


Self Interest

by dendriticgold



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 104,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendriticgold/pseuds/dendriticgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Duke of Crowborough returns to Downton, cue a crisis for Thomas Barrow as he tries to keep himself (and Jimmy) away from harm and scandal. Set post Downton Abbey 3x08.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you tumblr's Catthetamedshrew for creating the cover image below (Previously seen on FF). The first image anyone made for me and for the first ever story, and just thank you so much xx

'…and finally the Duke of Crowborough.' The undertone of contempt in Carson's voice was hard to mistake as he read the last name of the Christmas guest list. Mrs Hughes raised her eyebrows slightly, more than aware of Carson's disdain for the nobleman who had thrown over his beloved Lady Mary. The Duke certainly couldn't get out of Downton fast enough once he discovered Lady Mary's status as an heiress was in dispute. If she was honest, Mrs Hughes wasn't entirely sure that Lady Mary (at least the pre-Matthew Lady Mary) would have objected to being a Duchess even if she had known her husband was more fiscally than romantically inclined.

A slight rattle as Thomas maneuvered his tea cup into its saucer drew the attention of the entire complement of Downstairs staff seated around the table.

For the briefest moment Thomas's eyes were wide and unseeing, but he quickly snapped back to the present.

'It gets a bit stiff when the weather turns.' He offered softly, speaking more to the table itself than to the rest of the staff. He clenched and unclenched his half-gloved hand a few times for good measure.

The eyes of Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore lingered on Thomas for a few moments longer than the rest of the staff. The air of defeat and timidity had lingered for too long for comfort in Thomas's demeanor. Once the euphoria of the cricket match and promotion had abated after the 'unfortunate incident' the change in Thomas was astonishing. His performance as Under-Butler was truly exemplary, his skills finally noticeable without the façade of arrogance and malicious words to offer a distraction, but 'off duty' Thomas seemed more like a shadow than a person. The two women had agreed recently (and somewhat ruefully) that they did somewhat miss the slow smoldering fire that Thomas had carried behind his eyes as a young man, albeit a frequently misguided, misdirected and occasionally volatile fire.

'The Duke will be arriving five days ahead of the rest of the guests, who are expected Christmas Eve.' Continued Carson. 'Though why, I don't know.' He muttered to himself, as though the Duke's sole intent in coming was to personally offend him. 'He has requested a Valet, as though we won't already have enough to do.'

Carson turned to Thomas. 'Mr Barrow, I recall the Duke requested you personally on his last visit. So I think it appropriate that you attend him.'

Thomas looked up abruptly. His decidedly bland expression concealed an absolute maelstrom spinning in his head.

_The Duke won't want to be attended by me, surely not after the way we parted last time. But how can I explain that without giving away the particulars…What if he does want to see me? What if he's coming early to make time to reconcile with me?_

More likely to bloody gloat, Thomas corrected himself.

_How do I get out of this?_

'Mr Barrow?' Carson regarded him quizzically.

Thomas was suddenly painfully aware he had been sitting in silence with his mouth open for longer than appropriate.

'I was just thinking, Mr Carson.'

'Yes….?'

_Ah, the footmen. I could suggest it as a learning experience for one of them. Jimmy would jump at the chance to act up as Valet, and to a Duke of all people..._

But then Thomas's memory conjured up the way the Duke's eye had traced over him the first time they had met ( _I must have been about Jimmy's age then_ ), and recalled with a painful twist the way his own eyes had feasted on Jimmy's naked shoulders many months previously.

_No. I can't do that to Jimmy. Alfred then? With a face like that he'd be safe…well, probably. Damn, but Jimmy is first footman. It would have to be him._

'Um….' In the end there was only one thing for it.

'As you say, Mr Carson, the Duke did request me on his last visit and I believe that was after you offered your own services.'

'Your point being?' Mr Carson said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

'Just…It's probably best to leave off making arrangements as the Duke may request something different. That is all.'

Carson snorted slightly at the implication that the Duke would question his judgment, but nodded slightly.

'Very well, but if he makes no comment on the matter you will service him on arrival.'

'Yes Mr Carson.' Said Thomas quietly.

Around the table there were several confused looks. As their eyes met, both Anna and Bates silently communicated their (slightly amused) shock that Thomas wasn't leaping at the chance to serve the Duke. It certainly wasn't like Thomas to shy away from a chance to get close to the rich and powerful, even since the 'unfortunate incident'.

Jimmy rolled his eyes at Alfred who smirked slightly. Over the past months this had become something of a regular routine each time the Under-Butler opened his mouth.

'Well I think that is everything. If there are any queries please bring them to my attention  _before_ the guests arrive.'

'Good luck to all of us this festive season.' Smiled Mrs Hughes.

'Indeed.' Said Mr Carson, rising from his seat at the head of the table. The rest of the servants followed suit.

Thomas, deeply lost in thought, was a little slower to rise than the others.


	2. Chapter 2

'Do you have any notion as to why Crowborough has chosen to visit us?' Robert said. His breath slightly visible in the crisp winter morning.

Cora walked in step with him around the frosty lawn, wrapped warm in a fur trimmed coat but still pressed close to her husband. Her arm encircled round his.

'You extended the invitation. We are going to be quite a large party this year, fifteen I think, and it wouldn't have been fit to exclude him from the list. Not after what happened with his poor wife.'

'He didn't have to accept though, did he? And why is he coming early?'

'Robert, he must be lonely.'

They reached the bench and sat looking over the garden.

'You know full well he only married Lady Wilson for her money.' Robert replied. The low winter sun gave the trees a golden luster, and Robert felt his mood soften slightly in spite of the Duke's pending arrival.

'I also know full well that a marriage of convenience can develop into something more, and so do you.' Cora carefully leaned her head on his shoulder, mindful of her fur hat tickling Robert's cheek.

'It seems like a lifetime ago since he last visited. So much has happened since; the War, Mary and Matthew…' Robert's voice trailed off, Sybil's bright eyes suddenly forefront in his mind.

They sat for a moment in silence.

'Perhaps the Duke will be a welcome reminder of the good old days. Besides, I suppose the number of households grand enough to receive a Duke are dwindling fast.' Said Cora with a wry smile that Robert couldn't help but return.

Downstairs the mood was decidedly chaotic. The Duke's pending arrival seemingly provided Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes with a heightened sensitivity to uniform infractions (snagged hems, loose buttons, minuscule scuffs on shoes…) and consequently the staff room had turned into something resembling the backstage of a pantomime. Alfred's fingers seemed to have turned to thumbs, so he exchanged sewing the tear in the lining of his jacket with shinning Jimmy's shoes. Bates was occupied with his own shoes, sparing the occasional glance at Anna who was knelt at the feet of housemaid Gill (who was stood on the spare bench), pinning up part of her underskirt that showed a little more than appropriate below the hemline of her dress. Miss O'Brien sat in the midst of the impromptu workshop making a show of daintily repairing Cora's grey evening gloves, smirking at the panic around her.

Mrs Hughes had checked in on Mrs Patmore and Daisy ' _Just to make sure you have everything you need_ ' so many times that Mrs Patmore had threatened another salty pudding course, while Carson was holed up in the wine cellar looking for a bottle that would convey the appropriate ' _Nothing but the very best in this house, even though your presence is unwelcome_ ' sentiment.

Thomas had slipped away upstairs a few minutes previously. Having made the final checks of the drawing room and prepared guest bedroom (lingering uncomfortably at the door for a moment before entering, he was ashamed to admit), he gave the bustling staff room a wide berth and headed to his room to make his own last minute preparations.

These amounted to little more than a change of shirt and a quick smoothing of his hair. Having little else to do in the evenings, certainly no one to talk to (excepting the awkward and pitying, yet welcome, small talk from Mrs Hughes and Bates over dinner), his new semi-butler's uniform was always well attended. He quickly splashed some water on his face, catching sight of himself in the small bureau mirror. Thomas frowned slightly. The years certainly hadn't been kind to him. Staring into his own eyes, Thomas remembered the smooth alabaster skin and fine jaw and cheek structure that had often proved useful in the years before the War. Now, it was as though his own skin was falling away from his face slightly (barely perceptible as a fault except in comparison to what he had been before) and what was once smooth and youthful now looked almost pock-scarred. He wasn't even sure when it had happened. He supposed he had stopped taking care of himself during the War, the thought of even taking more than the bare minimum of time over shaving when the water was practically frozen and you feared for your life was absurd, and the habit hadn't returned.

_Or I'm just getting old._

'Oh what does it bloody matter?' He whispered aloud to his reflection. 'I've no one to impress.'

Thomas returned to the clothes laid out on the bed and began the ordeal of getting into the shirt and over layers. As he dressed, he was surprised at his own conviction. While having arrived at the conclusion that he wanted nothing to do with the Duke a few days previous (his blood running cold even at the thought of having to dress him), Thomas was nevertheless shocked to find that he genuinely did not care how his ex-lover perceived him.

_What the hell has happened to me?_


	3. Chapter 3

The family filed out of the Downton foyer as just as the car swept up to the house. Cora the picture of welcoming cheer along with Matthew's polite smile, Mary decidedly uncomfortable (Matthew's hand clasped tightly in hers) along with Tom. Edith appeared uninterested.

 _Most definitely a secret lover hidden away somewhere_.

Thomas's lips formed a barely perceptible smile. The Edith of old (job satisfaction or no) would have never missed the chance of an available young nobleman. All the staff had noticed the recent change in Edith, there was an aura of genuine happiness. Happiness that, for the first time in her life, did not seem to revolve around recognition from her family.

But to show disinterest in a newly widowed and still reasonably young Duke…?

_Definitely found a man…. Good for her._

At the sound of car wheels crunching over the gravel, the smile rapidly dissolved from Thomas's face.

_Act naturally._

The Downstairs welcome committee had been lined up outside for the better part of ten minutes. Suppressing the urge to shiver in the biting cold provided a welcome distraction.

He risked a sideways glance at Jimmy, standing three places away in line. Jimmy seemed to be attempting to grow his neck several inches to compensate for the height discrepancy with Alfred, his chin high and chest puffed out. Thomas silently wished that Carson would catch sight of Jimmy; a brisk comment about 'not trying too hard' would surely follow. As it was, in the aftermath of Thomas's promotion he, Alfred and Jimmy had organically developed an unspoken and tenuous 'bare minimum of contact and speech' agreement which allowed all three to keep their jobs, while enabling the two footmen to disrespect and disregard him as they saw fit. Correcting Jimmy's posture in front of almost the entire complement of Downton staff and the Crawley family would be an  _unfortunate_  move on Thomas's part, to say the least.

Still, Jimmy's posture added to Thomas's growing discomfort. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

_I swear even 1912 me didn't try that hard._

Thomas faced forwards, fixing the facial expression honed through years of service. His head held high, expression blank, eyes bypassing the immediate spectacle and instead fixing on a particularly interesting tree several hundred meters in the distance.

_Here we go._

The car came to a halt. He heard the door open and close, then he heard footsteps, then the small talk began.

'Dear Duke, we are delighted to once again have you with us at Downton.' Cora's warm American tones rang out in the otherwise silent driveway.

'Lady Grantham, I am much obliged to for receiving me for this festive season. It is a delight to be back at Downton Abbey.'

Well he certainly sounded like the man Thomas remembered (bitterly). As he heard the Duke step forward to greet Robert, Thomas allowed himself a quick glance.

'Lord Grantham, Thank you for your kind invitation. I very much look forward to speaking with you this evening about times past.'

It was a very brief glance; risking eye contact was out of the question. The mix of indignation and shame that he had carried since the letters marked 'My Dearest Thomas' had been put to the flames suddenly seemed overwhelming after years of festering silently in his mind.

He couldn't ascertain much, just that the Duke's hair was a little shorter and his frame seemed slightly thinner. The grin that could turn feral at the drop of a hat was certainly still present (currently directed towards Matthew and Robert) as was the air of supreme self-importance, confidence and entitlement.

He kept his eyes staring into the distance as the Crawleys and Crowborough continued to make their brief greetings (Tom Branson standing by awkwardly, but attempting to appear willing), realising too late that this robbed him of the chance to see the Duke's reaction on noticing that he, Thomas, after all these years was still a servant and still at Downton.

At least as Under Butler he had achieved a higher position than he had ever thought possible all those years ago. Now, the idea of resorting to sexual favors to merely be promoted to someone's Valet seemed such an absolute absurdity. However, he supposed technically sexual favors (or rather, once again the rejection thereof) had factored into his current elevation. It was no secret that the circumstances of his promotion to Under Butler did somewhat prevent his enjoyment of the perks of his new status in the household. He was constantly treading on eggshells around the staff who had so readily condemned him, and was a long way from being comfortable with those who had come to his aid.

If the Duke noted Thomas's presence, or the livery denoting his role as Under Butler, he made no mention of it.

He had now reached Carson, the final stop on his tour of people to greet before entering the house.

'Hello Mr Carson. As before, I am afraid I shall have to request the services of one of you footmen as Valet.'

'Very good, your Grace. Would you care to select one?' Carson glanced sideways at Thomas, who was just visible over Mrs Hughes's head, and attempted to communicate his amusement that he had found a way to pre-emptively avoid having his own suggestion countermanded by the Duke.

'Your First Footman, this blond chap. He will do just fine.'

_Of course. Of course it would be Jimmy._

'I am sure James will be delighted to attend to you, your Grace.' Carson bowed.

The Duke smiled pleasantly before stepping through the threshold into Downton, flanked by Cora and Robert, trailed by the rest of the family.

Immediately the pristine posture of the assembled servants fell away. They began to scramble round to the back entrance of the house, stamping feet and blowing on cold fingers to obtain some sort of warmth. Jimmy and Alfred stayed behind, and began offloading the Duke's luggage. Alfred was his usual sullen self, while Jimmy was grinning like a cat that has got the cream (and glancing repeatedly at Alfred to make sure his smug grin was having the desired effect).

For the briefest moment, Thomas hated him.

But the emotion rapidly gave way to a sense of worry and foreboding.

_You poor, deluded, self-interested child._


	4. Chapter 4

'He packs like a ruddy woman!' Alfred huffed, trying to maintain his grip on two suitcase handles in each hand.

'Oh yes?' Jimmy staggered up the staircase behind him, balancing three small boxes on a large leather trunk. Putting on a voice not unlike Lady Edith's breathy and clipped tone, Jimmy continued, 'You must have learnt so much about people and their luggage at the hotel Mr Nugent. Do tell me more!'

'Oh give over!'

Aside from a brief argument outside the guest bedroom door (regarding whose load was easier to set down to operate the door handle…Alfred lost) they make it into the Duke's room without incident.

Jimmy set the trunk down at the foot of the bed and motioned to Alfred to move the suitcases adjacent to the wardrobe. Once they were safely in place Alfred gave a mock bow. 'I'll be off then.'

'You can't be serious!' Jimmy had already decanted the contents of the three small boxes into the appropriate locations (shoes to the base of the cupboard, hats to the hat stand) and was opening the large leather trunk. 'There's less than ten minutes before he'll need to dress for dinner. Can't you give me a bloody hand?'

Jimmy whipped past Alfred, popping things in drawers and on top of the bureau as he went.

'Well if the task is too much for you, Acting Captain Valet…? Alfred's expression was more mirth than malice.

'Just at least do the shirts from those second two cases, ok? As Carson says, it's all of our jobs to maintain the high standards of service expected at Downton.'

At this Alfred laughed, 'It's funny how Mr Carson's teachings have a way of coming up whenever there's work you want  _other_  people to do.'

'I'll make a fine Butler, don't you think?' Jimmy flashed him an impish smile. 'It's a shame you have to be so old to qualify. I wonder if they count grey hairs on interview…you know, make sure they reach a satisfactory quota.'

He moved to lay out the sets of cufflinks, marveling slightly at a pair set with what appeared to be very large genuine rubies.

'It would be nice to be a Valet. Nicer than what we do anyway.' Jimmy continued.

'I'm not so sure, they still have to do extras you know. If Mr Bates wasn't lame they'd have him waiting the dinner table, just like us.' Said Alfred.

Jimmy snorted slightly at the mental image of Bates attempting to hold a platter stable while hopping about the dining room.

'Christ, is that the time? He could be up any minute!' Said Jimmy, with a hasty glance at the mantelpiece clock. Scooping up a set of books from the base of the trunk Jimmy heard a slight click. Regarding the base of the trunk quizzically he noticed the base panel had shifted slightly under his fingertips.

'Hey Alfred, I think this has a false…'

The door swung open and both Footmen jumped to their feet. They didn't relax when they recognised the interloper.

Thomas stood in the doorway holding another bag.

'This suitcase was under the seat of the car.' Thomas extended his arm to offer the suitcase, but neither Jimmy nor Alfred moved to take it.

'Fine.' Thomas muttered, placing the case on the floor in the doorframe. 'I also wanted to inform you that the Duke of Crowborough is being entertained by Lord Grantham at present, so won't be disturbing you yet. The dressing gong, incidentally, will be rung twenty minutes late as we are given to understand there has been an issue in the kitchens.'

Thomas turned and walked away, knowing from the past few months experience that no answer would be forthcoming.

Jimmy stared at the suitcase in the doorway with contempt. In the end Alfred picked it up.

Operating under the etiquette that servants do not speak unless spoken to, Jimmy had almost finished preparing the Duke for dinner in total silence save for a few necessary pleasantries and discussion about his clothing choices.

As he was fastening the Duke's cufflinks he glanced up and noticed the Duke staring at him. He looked back down quickly.

'I do appologise.' Smiled the Duke. 'I have never seen someone focusing so intently on fastening cufflinks.'

Jimmy smiled back. 'It has been a while since I have done this your Grace.'

'So you have acted as Valet before?'

'Not here, your Grace. I was previously under the employ of the Dowager Lady Anstruther. I tended to her son when he visited from Europe.'

'Ah yes, I am familiar with Lord Anstruther...'

Jimmy finished fastening the cufflinks and turned to fetch the dinner jacket.

Sweeping his eyes up and down Jimmy's back appreciatively, the Duke continued. '…I am now assured I have made the correct choice of Valet. He demands such…attentiveness and high standards of his staff.'

The Duke turned to allow Jimmy to help him into his jacket. Behind his back, Jimmy allowed himself a quick smirk.

As the Duke turned to face him, Jimmy met his eyes with a practiced look of slight defiance mixed with coquettishness (and that little hint of fear that occasionally seemed to inspire additional lust) to make it clear that he understood the implications of the Duke's professed acquaintance with Lord Anstruther. The answering look was both pleased and hungry.

 _Well this is going to be easier than expected._  Jimmy thought to himself.

'Will that be all for now, your Grace?'

'Yes, quite.' The Duke's expression reverted to easy and pleasant as he indicated the door. Jimmy allowed the Duke to lead him out of the room, with his hand on the small of Jimmy's back (fingers slightly below the belt-line), before hurrying back downstairs to pick up the trays for dinner.

Thomas had been sitting in the staff room alone for several hours when Bates walked in. Mercifully Thomas's services were not required at dinner, the Duke being the only guest and both footmen being available. Lord Grantham had retired early, allowing Bates to return ahead of the rest of the staff who were engaged in either undressing their relative nobles or clearing away the post-dinner and drinks carnage in the upstairs rooms.

Bates stood looking at Thomas for a while before sitting down.

'What is it Mr Bates?' Said Thomas wearily, on his fourth cigarette in less than an hour.

'You look like hell.'

'Thank you.' Thomas replied, his voice quiet and disinterested.

'Are you really so upset about the Duke choosing Jimmy? I wouldn't have thought an Under Butler would be concerned about losing the chance to attend to tasks that are 'beneath him'.' Said Bates.

'I'm not that shallow.' Thomas frowned slightly as Bates laughed. 'Look, I'm worried about Jimmy working for the Duke, if you must know. Nothing to do with my pride. Not that there's much of that left these days as you and anyone with eyes bloody well knows.'

'What is the nature of your disapproval of the Duke?' Said Bates.

'I can't very well tell you, can I Mr Bates?'

'And why is that? Sorry to remind you, but you aren't over burdened with well-wishers at present.'

'I can't tell you because you have a habit of running to his Lordship with sensitive information.' At the flash of anger in Bates's eyes Thomas quickly continued, 'Not that I'm saying that's always a bad thing…' Bates raised an eyebrow.

Thomas sighed. 'You know I'm grateful Mr Bates.' He said quietly, staring down at a knot in the wood of the table. 'It's just that it would be…inappropriate to involve his Lordship. My fears might be unfounded.'

Bates shifted slightly on the table bench, considering his next words carefully.

'You are afraid of Jimmy acting as Valet to his Grace. Am I to surmise this relates to your own experience of serving the Duke when he last visited?' Bates said.

Thomas inhaled deeply on his cigarette, still staring at the table. 'Partly, yes... I suppose.' He took another drag, running the finger of his left hand over the table woodwork.

'Mr Barrow, look at me.' Thomas didn't move.

'Thomas, this is important.' Thomas slowly raised his head.

From the sickeningly pitying look on his face, Thomas had a horrible feeling that Bates had put two and two together and come up with five.

'Oh God, nothing like that. He didn't force…anything.' Said Thomas, a rare ruby blush spreading over his face.

'Is he violent?'

'No, that's not…'

'Well, then isn't the solution obvious? I assume I am correct in surmising you had an attachment to the Duke.' Thomas nodded slightly. 'And given Jimmy's reaction to your…attentions…you worry about what will happen if the Duke tries anything with him?'

'That's about the size of it. But what's this  _obvious solution_?'

'Warn Jimmy. Just talk to him and tell him of the Duke's preferences. You don't have to give him the history. Just make it so he knows to be guarded in his dealings with the Duke, and that he can say 'No' if the situation demands it.'

'I agree. So obvious.' Thomas laughed bitterly. 'Jimmy hasn't agreed to speak to me in months, you know that.'

Familiar footsteps in the corridor heralded Anna's arrival.

'You'll think of a way.' Bates rose stiffly from the table and moved to join Anna for the walk home.

Thomas nodded. Extinguishing his cigarette and fishing out another.

'Thank you.' He said quietly. Bates turned and smiled, but an expression of concern soon took over again. 'Are you sure the Duke didn't…?'

'No. He didn't.'

'Gosh, you two look quite serious.' Anna appeared in the doorway. 'You had better not be getting each other into trouble?' She smiled, clearly having left Lady Mary in a good mood.

'No. Just me, as usual.' Said Thomas ruefully, although Anna's glowing smile was proving infectious.

'Goodnight Mr Barrow.' Said Bates, as he and Anna left.


	5. Chapter 5

Noting that Jimmy was clearing his breakfast plate with more gusto than usual, Thomas endeavored to do the same. As Jimmy replaced his cutlery on the plate, Thomas seized his chance.

'James, may I have a word with you in Mr Carson's office?'

The breakfast table was rendered silent. Enough people knew of what had transpired between the two men to be shocked at Thomas directly addressing Jimmy. Internally, Thomas congratulated himself on having picked the right moment. Jimmy's rude dismissals of his previous overtures would not fly in front of such a large audience, especially one including Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, and Thomas had the perfect justification:

'As you are attending to the Duke of Crowborough, I thought it might be prudent for me to give you the benefit of my prior experience serving his Grace. As befits his station, he is a very particular man.' Thomas spoke as pleasantly as he could muster, as though he were simply remarking on the weather.

'I'm doing fine.' Jimmy snapped back.

Carson cleared his throat. He was clearly uncomfortable (as he was every time the animosity between Jimmy and Thomas reared its head, given the original cause of it). But it was Mrs Hughes who spoke first.

'It's kind of Mr Barrow to offer his advice James, you would be wise to take it.' Her tone of voice making it clear that disagreement was not an option.

Still, being Jimmy, he tried.

'Alright then, let's have it.' He said, making no move to rise from his seat.

Thomas caught Miss O'Brien's expression out of the corner of his eye; she was doing a deliberately poor job of hiding her amusement behind her tea cup.

This time, Anna came to the rescue.

'Miss O'Brien and I…' (O'Brien's face snapped back to a neutral expression at the mention of her name) 'wouldn't discuss their Ladyships private business over the breakfast table.'

'Nor I, his Lordship's.' Said Bates. 'Surely you appreciate the need for discretion James?'

With a face like thunder, Jimmy rose abruptly from his seat. Thomas rolled his eyes at the rest of the table in mock exasperation and slowly got up himself.

He let Jimmy walk into Mr Carson's office ahead of him, which allowed Thomas to stay between Jimmy and the door (which he had shut tight behind himself).

Alone with Jimmy for the first time in months, for a moment the familiar warmth rose in Thomas's breast. It was so long since he had allowed himself to truly look at Jimmy. Beautiful, golden, guarded yet vulnerable….and currently scowling at him like a petulant child. Jimmy made a show of retreating right into the opposite corner of the room, to stand as physically far away from Thomas as possible.

'There's no need to act as though I mean to murder you.' Said Thomas quietly.

'You know damn well I've got reasons to not want to be within 50 feet of you. And if you've tricked me in here to talk about your twisted ways, you've got another bloody thing coming.' Jimmy was shaking slightly in agitation, and eyed the door behind Thomas.

'No, believe me.' Thomas swallowed nervously. 'This really is about the Duke. You're not going to like what I'm about to say, but given what I know about the Duke and what I know about you I feel I owe it to you to tell you.'

'Out with it, then. Get to the point.'

'Can you please just calm down. I'm not sure how to say this.'

Jimmy huffed and made a move to barge past Thomas towards the door.

'He's like me.' Thomas blurted out.

Jimmy stopped and regarded Thomas quizzically.

Thomas took a deep breath. 'I just…You are…well, you're good looking. I know the Duke; he will most likely try something.' He was disgusted to find that his eyes suddenly felt like they were drowning, though he wasn't sure if it was down to Jimmy or latent frustration over the Duke.

Jimmy took a moment to mentally calculate the ramifications of his reply. In the end he decided the truth would do, after all, the truth would hurt.

'Yes, I surmised that much already myself. Can I go now?'

'What do you mean?' Thomas turned to grasp Jimmy's arm, concern etched into every line of his face.

'Overtures have been made. And I will decide how best to proceed. Not that it's any business of yours.' He said, shaking out of Thomas's grip.

'You…you condemned me for…'

'For assaulting me in my sleep, yes.' Jimmy cut in.

'So what…If I had approached you in another manner you would have said yes?' Thomas barely noticed the tear that escaped and made its way down his face.

'Of course not, I'm not like you. You're an abomination. And dry your bloody eyes.'

Thomas absently swept a hand across his cheek.

'I don't understand.'

'Providing services as part of a business arrangement is one thing. You on the other hand, you genuinely think you love men. Don't you? The way a man is supposed to love a woman. Can you not see how twisted and disgusting that is?'

'So you welcome the attentions of any noble you can get something out of and reject me when I truly loved you?'

'Men can't love men.' Jimmy enunciated each word clearly as though speaking to a child. 'The sooner you realise that, the better for you.'

_My God. And I thought I was the one that was damaged._

In hindsight, Thomas wished he had salvaged the situation by using the opportunity to warn Jimmy that 'business' arrangements with the Duke were apt to go awry. Then at least he could have sent Jimmy off to the Duke safe in the knowledge that he had discharged his involvement in the matter and let Jimmy make his own mistakes with a clear conscience on his part.

However, at the time, while staring into the face of some vile creature that seemed to have possessed the bright and sweet man he had loved, a little of the old Thomas rose along with the bile in his throat.

'My apologies James. Next time I creep into your room, I'll remember to bring my wallet.'

The slap, when it came, was not entirely unexpected.


	6. Chapter 6

Thomas stood leaning against Mr Carson's desk for a while trying to settle his breathing before emerging from the office. He was flustered but unmarked by the altercation, mercifully. The hit had stung, but there was no split skin and he doubted he would bruise. That would have been hard to explain. He wondered absently if Jimmy had slapped instead of punching him for precisely that reason, and almost bumped into Mrs Hughes as he stepped out into the corridor.

'Mr Barrow, how was the talk?' She sounded concerned. Thomas made a mental note to check his eyes for redness in the mirror before continuing with the day's tasks. 'I saw James emerge in a powerful temper.'

_Ah. So that was it._

'Well you know James; he was never going to thank me for advice. But he…took note of my words.' Thomas replied and hurried off to help Carson assemble the breakfast service.

Upstairs, Jimmy knocked on the Duke's door. A tray of coffee and biscuits balanced on one arm. The Duke called for him to enter.

The Duke was standing at the bureau, partially dressed and dabbing cologne at his neck.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, your Grace. The staff meeting this morning overran.'

The Duke smiled at him and motioned for him to set the coffee tray on the desk.

'I will be walking in the grounds with Lord Grantham, Matthew and Lady Mary this morning.' Said the Duke. 'So the brown tweed today.'

'Yes your Grace.'

As he helped the Duke into his shirt and waistcoat, Jimmy kept careful measure of the Duke's expression and breathing. By the time he helped him into his jacket, he was doubly assured he had gauged the situation correctly.

The Duke sat in the desk chair and reached for the coffee as Jimmy fetched his shoes from the cupboard. Moving over to kneel at the Dukes feet, Jimmy looked up at him while beginning to tie his laces.

'Your Grace, I have a favor to ask of you.'

The Duke snorted slightly, replacing the coffee cup on the desk. 'And what is the nature of this favor?'

'Well, as you know, all good footmen aspire for promotion to Valet.'

Jimmy noticed the Duke's smile had become decidedly fixed.

'Don't worry, I have no desire to work for you.' Rude, yes, but clearly a necessary sentiment to relay.

'Oh?' The Duke said, his expression softened, albeit still with a hint of wariness.

The laces complete, Jimmy stayed where he was, holding the Duke's gaze.

'I was just wondering if you would be willing to write me a reference, that's all. Perhaps commuting the week I will spend serving you here to a time period of your choosing, anything over three months will suffice.'

_Well you're a slippery one, aren't you?_

'I see. And what will you do with this reference?'

'Nothing at present. It's just that if it becomes necessary to move on from Downton I should like to be able to display the appropriate qualifications to apply for the post of Valet elsewhere. Visitors of your…caliber are rare here at Downton. I should never forgive myself if I didn't ask.'

'I see…' The amusement in the Duke's eyes was evident. 'And precisely why would I risk my own good name on a fraudulent document?'

For a moment the silence in the room was deafening.

'Out of the goodness of your heart, why else?' Jimmy smiled as the Duke raised an eyebrow.

_Well, here goes…_

Jimmy moved to slowly undo the buttons on his green and black waistcoat, before sliding the knot of his bow-tie open.

To say the Duke was suddenly very  _attentive_  would have been a vast understatement. At that particular moment, no occurrence on earth could have drawn his eyes away.

Jimmy paused for effect before working his shirt buttons, exposing a smooth slither of flesh beneath. He tilted his head up slightly, exposing the skin of his throat in invitation. The Duke's hand immediately came to rest below his jaw.

Jimmy smirked internally; another reason to be glad that the day uniform of Footmen did not include the bib shirt-front worn during dinner service.

The Duke's hand tentatively slipped lower, running down his chest under the fabric of his shirt.

_Well aren't you full of surprises, little one?_

'Can you have it done by this evening?'

Jimmy placed his hand over the Duke's, stilling its progress.

_My, my._

'I suppose you would be grateful if I did?'

'Of course, your Grace.'

'And precisely how long would this gratitude last?'

Jimmy frowned in mock innocence.

'As you know, your Grace, you have my services until Christmas.'

His hand still reveling in the warmth of Jimmy's skin, the Duke regarded the very appealing spectacle kneeling before him. Unsurprisingly he took only a few seconds to make his decision.

He nodded slightly, reluctantly drawing his hand away.

Both men stood up.

'I believe we have an understanding James.' He said, moving past Jimmy. Retrieving his hat from the stand he opened the door. Taking a moment to ravish the visible skin with his eyes, he exited the room.

Jimmy exhaled sharply.

_Like shooting fish in a barrel._

He quickly put his clothes to rights and moved to tidy the Duke's night clothes into the drawer.

The leather trunk caught his eye as he was about to leave. He suddenly remembered the peculiar way the base of the trunk had moved as he was unpacking. Crossing the room, he opened the trunk, and after a few minutes of trying he released the false panel at the base.

Inside was a bundle of letters tied with a thick white ribbon. Frowning slightly, Jimmy retrieved the small package. On untying the ribbon, he was surprised to recognise that it was in fact a white bow-tie, not unlike the one he was currently wearing. He turned the letters over, even more surprised when he recognised the small, neat handwriting of Thomas Barrow.

There was a knock at the door and it began to open.

Jimmy hastily replaced the base of the trunk and shoved the letters and bow-tie into his pocket.

Gill entered the room, ready to turn down the bed. She jumped when she saw Jimmy still in the room.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you would have been finished by now. Shall I come back later?'

'No, no need.' Said Jimmy, closing the trunk. Rising from the floor and straightening his jacket, he continued, 'I am finished.'

He moved swiftly to the door.


	7. Chapter 7

As he ran back down to the servants quarters Thomas congratulated himself on once again dodging the bullet of having to attend the Duke. After helping lay out the dishes, Carson had taken it upon himself to stay and serve the breakfast. Small mercies.

A few minutes later Carson stood silently by the breakfast service trays while Lord Grantham, Tom, Matthew, Edith and the Duke sat around the table. The stilted small talk had dried up rapidly (despite Matthew's best efforts), and after a few minutes of silence it was a relief to all when the Duke spoke.

'I am very much looking forward to the tour of the grounds today.'

'I hope you will find the walk enjoyable.' Smiled Matthew. Looking pointedly at Robert to contribute to the conversation.

'Yes, Downton is always a beautiful sight in the winter.' He offered stiffly.

'Oh I have no doubt.' Said the Duke, pausing to eat another slice of bacon. 'The weather appears uncharacteristically fine today, it almost calls for a picnic.'

Matthew laughed politely. 'I shouldn't say it is quite picnic weather. Although Mary and myself have lately enjoyed a glass of mulled wine at the folly after our walks. If you like the idea, we could arrange for one of the staff to meet us when we return at twelve o'clock?'

'Well that sounds very appealing.' Said the Duke.

'Mr Carson, could you make the arrangements?' Said Robert.

'Of course, my Lord.' Carson bowed.

They all ate in silence for a few more minutes.

'It's nice, isn't it? To enjoy these tranquil moments before the bustle of Christmas begins.' Said Matthew, taking yet another stab at conversation.

'I do apologise for trespassing on your hospitality ahead of time.' Said the Duke.

'Oh not at all, that isn't what I meant!'

'I know, I just want you all to know I am grateful. I don't mind saying things have been very hard on me lately. Loneliness and the incessant demands of maintaining my business portfolio. It is an absolute pleasure to have some time to recharge.'

'You are most welcome.' Said Matthew.

'Yes, indeed.' Added Robert.

'I thought tomorrow you might join us for a ride. Tom has been training lately, and tomorrow the stable master is finally allowing me to take him out of the yard.' Said Matthew, earning himself a murderous look from Tom.

Tom's willingness to continually humiliate himself to learn 'country pursuits' at Matthew's hand was something the two men took pleasure in, but not an experience Tom ever wished an outsider to share in...or witness, for that matter.

'Oh, I'm surprised you are only just learning.' Said the Duke to Tom.

'When ones life's work is cars, there is little need for horses.' Tom replied flatly.

'I'm afraid I don't understand…'

Robert quickly cut in. 'Ah, I forgot to mention, your Grace. Myself, Cora, and Edith will be absent from the house on the night of the 23rd. We are taking a brief trip to London and will be arriving early on Christmas Eve in time to greet the guests who will be arriving in the mid-afternoon.'

Edith privately smiled at the mention of London.

'Oh ok. I hope you all have a pleasant trip.' Said the Duke. 'And I do look forward to joining you two gentlemen tomorrow.'

Matthew shot Tom a deeply apologetic look.

Later that day at approximately ten minutes to twelve, Thomas Barrow walked across the crisp grass towards the folly like a condemned man. The hamper containing mulled wine in an insulated container and a set of glasses that were a strange middle ground between mugs and wine glasses was clasped tightly in his right hand, a cigarette trailing from his left.


	8. Chapter 8

Thomas reached the folly and eyed the table and chairs set out on the front platform of the small stone building with trepidation. Setting the hamper down beside the steps he set about extracting the contents, giving the task undue attention. Anything to keep his mind blank.

He wasn't sure if he was fearful or longing for the hours that would come that night when he would finally have time to process Jimmy's words.

_I mean…what the HELL…_

Thomas shook his head abruptly. He couldn't let his thoughts turn to that. Not now. Not now that the four figures that had recently emerged from the woodland boarder were rapidly approaching. Thomas moved to stand ready at the folly steps, his black clothes and hair forming a stark contrast to the pale marble behind him.

_Here we bloody go then._

Robert and the Duke walked ahead of Mary and Matthew. The Dukes easy expression, all sweetness and light, turned Thomas's stomach. The nausea didn't abate when the Duke greeted him.

'Ah, Thomas…'

_That's Mr Barrow to you, you smug bastard._

…What a lovely surprise.'

'Ah yes.' Said Robert. 'I had forgotten Mr Barrow served you on your last visit. It seems so long ago now.'

'Yes, so long ago… I am not surprised to see you have been promoted Mr Barrow. Talents such as yours never go unrewarded for long.' Said the Duke.

Thomas bowed to cover the involuntary wince at the Duke's words, deliberately rising slowly to give Mary and Matthew time to catch up.

'If you would all care to take a seat, I will bring you the wine.' He said, indicating up the steps and resolutely avoiding the Duke's gaze.

Pouring the wine into the glasses he had laid out on a small silver tray, Thomas alighted the steps. He was almost clear.

_Just serve the wine, then retire to a respectable distance and wait for this damn thing to be over._

As he placed the last of the glasses down, the Duke accidently ( _on bloody purpose_ ) brushed against Thomas's hand. The half-gloved hand.

'Gracious, what happened there?' Said the Duke, running his finger along the line where the soft leather met Thomas's exposed fingers.

'A war wound, your Grace.' Said Thomas, extracting his hand from the Duke's reach.

Thomas looked up to see Robert and Matthew nodding solemnly, looking at him in sympathy.

It took every ounce of strength to force a smile.

'Will that be all for now, your Lordship?'

'Yes, thank you Mr Barrow. You may return to the house.'

Thomas took the walk back to the house as an opportunity to mentally catalogue every curse word in his extensive vocabulary.

Upon depositing the hamper back in the kitchen and instructing the hall boys to collect the table and glasses in half an hour, he climbed the stairs to the servant's bedrooms.

Ripping the glove off of his hand, Thomas stuck his hand in the basin in his bedroom and poured in a generous amount of water. Immersing the hand completely he scrubbed violently with the soap, ignoring the twinge of pain from the old wound that had never quite healed.

Throwing the soap down next to the basin, Thomas went to his cupboard and grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine secreted there. Drinking straight from the bottle, he sank onto his bed. Trying to suppress the violent sobs vying for release.

The footmen and housemaids hadn't had a moment to spare throughout the day. The preparation of all additional guest bedrooms (including shunting several beds to cater for guests travelling with partners) and extending the Christmas cheer down the usually unused corridors (aka. pulling all the remaining Christmas decorations from the attic) was a monumental task that would be continuously pursued over the remaining three days ahead of the guests arrival.

In the final moments before the servant's dinner and the closely following evening dressing gong, Jimmy finally found a moment to grab a much needed cup of tea in the servant's hall. The letters he had taken from the Duke's room were playing on his mind. He had taken a second to hide them on the top shelf of his cupboard that morning, but hadn't had the opportunity to return to his room for the rest of the day. He did worry a little that the Duke might notice they were missing, but he would just have to cross that bridge if it came up. He intended to return them to the Duke's trunk at some point the next day...perhaps. But certainly not before he had satisfied his curiosity.

It was with a flash of anger that he saw Bates seated comfortably at the table with a book. Bates had gotten out of almost all of the days heavy lifting on account of his leg, whereas Jimmy was almost at the point of exhaustion and still had the Duke and a dinner service to attend to.

Sniffing in disdain, Jimmy sat down heavily at the table as the rest of the staff began to trickle in ahead of dinner.

If the majority of staff hadn't been so preoccupied with eating after their hard day, they would have noticed that Jimmy glanced towards Thomas an inordinately large amount of times during the meal. Jimmy was very much looking forward to discharging his duties to the Duke for the night; his musings about the potential content of those letters was driving him mad.

Of course, he was most likely looking at working slightly extended hours that night, but no matter.

_It's not like sleeping is that great anyway._

His dreams often took him to places he objected to visit.


	9. Chapter 9

Jimmy had to admit he was impressed. The fake reference was perfect (and the signature authentic; Jimmy had taken the liberty of cross-checking against the papers in the Dukes desk when he had gone down for dinner). Jimmy folded the paper up and placed it in the top drawer of his desk.

Walking over to his mirror, Jimmy smoothed his hair down and took a few deep breaths.

'The Duke's gone up.'

Alfred's voice from the open doorway startled Jimmy out of his reverie. He glanced over at the clock, barely nine o'clock. The after dinner drinks were certainly still in progress.

'Someone's keen…' Jimmy muttered.

'What?' Said Alfred.

_Ah, was that aloud?_

'Nothing. Thank you for letting me know.' Jimmy headed for the door, grabbing a small vial from his chest of drawers on the way out.

_Can't be too careful…_

Jimmy made quick work of getting to the Duke's door, allowing himself a few more deep inhalations before knocking.

'Come in.'

'Good evening, your Grace.' Jimmy entered with a pleasant smile.

The Duke had pulled up the easy chair and was sitting by the fire, a glass of brandy in hand. Jimmy couldn't help but laugh when he saw that the Duke was already in his dressing gown.

'What? Surprised I know how to operate my own buttons?'

Jimmy closed the door behind himself, turning the key in the lock. He slowly approached the Duke.

'I was under the impression that was supposed to be my job.' He said with a teasing smile.

'I take it you were satisfied with the reference?' Said the Duke.

'Very much so.'

'Pull up the desk chair and come and join me. Would you like a brandy?'

'No thank you.' Jimmy halted at the foot of the bed and shrugged out of his jacket, deliberately throwing it to rest by the bedside table. He then got started on his waistcoat.

_No sweet nothings for you then, darling._

The Duke watched with amusement. 'You know, pleasantries are not always overrated.'

Above the waist Jimmy was down to his shirt, already unbuttoned all the way. He turned to the Duke, holding the Duke's gaze as his hands hovered over the partially undone buttons of his trousers. He raised an eyebrow, issuing an unmistakable challenge.

'Never mind.' The Duke rose abruptly.

Sweeping aside the tails of Jimmy's shirt the Duke placed his hands on Jimmy's exposed waist, marveling at the smooth warm flesh. Pulling Jimmy's body flush to his, the Duke leaned in to kiss him.

In a clearly practiced move, Jimmy shifted his head, offering up his neck rather than his lips.

_Well trained whore, I see._

The Duke made a murmur of disapproval, but endeavored to make the best of it. Snaking his tongue over Jimmy's collar bone, up to his jaw-line the Duke bit down sharply on his throat.

Jimmy hissed.

He turned and pulled the Duke down onto the bed, divesting himself of his trousers and undergarments quickly. He left them pooled at the bottom of the bed along with his shoes and socks, leaving himself in just his shirt, which hung precariously off his shoulders.

'Mmmm.' The Duke slowly pulled back the white fabric of the shirt. 'Very nice.'

Jimmy smiled. Glancing quickly down at the Duke's crotch area (naked between the folds of his dressing gown) to make sure he was having the desired effect, he slipped out of his shirt and turned onto his stomach to give the Duke the full benefit of his figure.

'You really are…' For once words failed the Duke as he trailed an appreciative finger down the curve of Jimmy's naked back.

'I know.'  _Right, time to get this show on the road._

Jimmy reached out a hand to fish in his jacket pocket. The vial secured, he poured a little liquid onto his hand, before reaching a hand between the Dukes legs to stroke his member.

Momentarily distracted by the sensation, the Duke's eyes widened in surprise as Jimmy rose to straddle his hips. Jimmy gave a devilish laugh, he had yet to meet a man who wasn't floored by this particular move (or induced into a quicker than usual completion, which if he was honest was the real reason this was his  _pièce de résistance_ ).

Releasing the Duke's member, Jimmy poured some liquid onto his fingers before discarding the bottle.

He couldn't resist smirking at the Duke's rapt expression.

'Oh, I'm sorry your Grace. Would you prefer to do the honors?'

The Duke shook his head quickly. 'I…I believe you seem to have the situation under control.'

_Dirty little angel._

A few minutes later, the Duke having been treated an utterly unforgettable spectacle, Jimmy moved to accommodate the Duke inside himself.

He attempted to set the pace, but the Duke quickly recovered from his earlier awe and was clearly not used to being passive under such circumstances. After a few awkward moments with them both attempting different rhythms, Jimmy gave over to the Duke (mentally giving thanks for his earlier attention to preparation). The Duke encouraged Jimmy's movement with a strong grip on his hips and powerful upward thrusts. Within less than five minutes (a new personal best, Jimmy noted, having glanced at the clock several times during the act) the Duke achieved release, with a facial expression denoting something close to a spiritual experience.

As Jimmy extracted himself slowly, the Duke grabbed his arm. 'Stay a while, won't you?'

'I have to get back. I will see you tomorrow.'

The Duke released his arm and Jimmy slid off the bed and set about getting back into his clothes.

The Duke watched him lazily.

_Well aren't we a stone cold bitch?_


	10. Chapter 10

As Jimmy left the Duke's room it was still relatively early. Silently praying that he would meet no one on the back staircase Jimmy slowly ascended the stairs towards the servant's rooms, wincing slightly as he went.

_Well it's been a while._

His bedroom door was a welcome relief.

Closing the door tight behind himself, and wishing (not for the first time that year) that the servants doors had locks, Jimmy moved the towel rails away from the fire and rekindled the flames in the grating. Laying a towel over the floor in front, he brought the wash basin, jug and soap down to rest next to the fire. Divesting himself of his garments for the second time in the night, he began the clean-up operation.

Later, feeling more human (his unsatisfied arousal finally abating), Jimmy debated getting back into fresh undergarments and his suit to go and get a drink from the kitchen. Deciding the task was too herculean under the present circumstances, he resolved to do without and just get straight into his nightclothes.

Moving a second candle to his bedside, Jimmy extinguished the others in the room. Fetching the bundle of letters from his cupboard (and without thinking, the bow-tie as well) Jimmy curled up under his bed-sheets.

Quickly sifting through the letters it appeared they were in date order. He noted that the final one appeared to be a telegram.  _Interesting_ …But he was resolved to read this particular 'book' in order.

Unfolding the first letter, Jimmy set the rest on his bedside table. Twirling the bow-tie absently round his fingers he began to read.

**_ Your Grace, _ **

**_ I was surprised to receive your letter. It is kind of you to remember me. It was a pleasure to serve you this summer. If the opportunity arises, of course I would be happy to do so again. I agree it was a good season. _ **

**_ Yours Sincerely, Thomas Barrow. _ **

_Well that was boring._

Jimmy retrieved the next letter from the nightstand. The next two were much the same. Perfectly professional drabbles about the summer seasons, perfectly boring. Then he opened the fourth.

**_ Dear Philip, _ **

_What the hell?_

Then it occurred to him that no one at Downton ever addressed the Duke by his first name.

_Well that's…interesting._

**_ It is strange to write that: 'Dear Philip', but if it gives you pleasure to read it then it gives me pleasure to write it. And you did say I could call you that in your last letter, so please do not think I am being impertinent. Tell me if it does make you uncomfortable for me to address you in this manner and I will make sure not to do it again. _ **

Jimmy rolled his eyes.

The rest of the letter spoke of various comings and goings at Downton. Jimmy smirked slightly at the continuous insults leveled at William ( _Daisy's William?_ ), Thomas's subordinate footman. But then, at the conclusion:

**_ I do miss you. I'm sorry you found my previous letters to be cold. That was not my intention. I just think it is important to be careful, for both our sakes. _ **

**_ Best Wishes, Thomas _ **

Jimmy reached for the next letter, which proved to be unremarkable. However, the one after that…

**_ Dear Philip, _ **

**_ You ask me what I miss about you? I think the main thing is the way you smiled when you saw me, it is not often that people are happy to see me. And before you laugh, I would like to categorically state that this is not always my fault. _ **

**_ I suppose I miss the way your skin smelt. That sounds very silly, doesn't it? It's just, underneath that cologne you always wear (which you know I disapprove of) you smell earthy. It's beautiful. _ **

_God, this is pathetic._

**_ And your lips. I miss your lips at my neck and the inside of my thigh. _ **

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up.

**_ The way you kissed me, especially when you would run your tongue over my lips. _ **

Unconsciously, Jimmy ran his own tongue along his upper lip. He stopped abruptly when he realised what he was doing.

**_ Anyway, this letter makes me feel ridiculous. _ **

**_ So I will simply say that, if it pleases you, I remain _ **

**_ Yours, Thomas. _ **

The next couple of letters were considerably less racy, but did draw Jimmy's attention occasionally.

** Dear Philip, **

** Thank you for your earlier letter. You know I would like to take a place in your household. I am now acting up as Valet to Lord Grantham and would very much relish the chance to once again perform those duties for you. **

_Valet_

That piqued Jimmy's interest. He had been wondering what was behind the Duke's wariness at the mention of Valet services.

There was a feeling of growing unease that was rapidly chilling his blood, one he refused to acknowledge.

_I'm just cold, its bloody late now and the fires are out._

**_ Dear Philip, _ **

**_ I can't believe you still haven't got tired of asking me that question. You must have realised by now that I do not answer because I have nothing to tell. I have no lovers here at Downton, nor am I likely to find anyone, nor would I look for anyone while I have you. _ **

**_ Besides, to borrow (and inappropriately apply) a phrase from times past, I have already promised my 'maidenhead' to you, haven't I? And I hope that you will be laughing as you read that, because I was sitting here for about half an hour to think of a way to put it. _ **

_'Maidenhead?'…what on earth is that? I'm sure I have heard that before._

**_ While we are on the subject. I would like to thank you for your patience with me last summer when we were together. I can't think of many men who would lie in bed with a naked lover and not try to 'push their luck' so to speak. I'm sorry. Although I would like to think that some of my other ministrations made up for me refusing you the ultimate conjunction. _ **

_Oh Holy Mary Mother of God._

Jimmy re-read the paragraph several times.

_Seriously?_

**_ I will be ready for you when we next meet. _ **

**_ Yours, Thomas _ **

Jimmy reached for the next letter.

**_ Dear Philip, _ **

**_ I think I do remember it, now you ask. We were standing just outside the Fitzroy's front porch. You were waiting for your car, I was having a smoke. You motioned me to join you in the dark by the side of the steps. You must remember how you put your hand over my heart and teased me about having a heart attack. Then you kissed me. All I could think about at the time was that I would taste of nothing but smoke. Not particularly romantic! _ **

**_ Yours, Thomas _ **

He reached for another letter.

**_ Dear Philip… _ **

He read two others, the pile of letters rapidly dwindling.

**_ Dear Philip, _ **

**_ I do love you. Satisfied now? _ **

**_ We have to try to find a way for me to say it to your face. I want to be with you. _ **

Jimmy sat looking at that first line for a long time. He felt his brow crease into a frown. He discarded the letter without reading further.

He pulled the final message, the telegram, off of the night stand.

Well there it was, Jimmy had no idea what the death of two men on the Titanic and the Lady Mary had in common but it was apparently enough for Thomas to think it merited the Duke visiting Downton.

_But how did it end?_

He set the telegram down on the bedspread with the other scattered letters.

Of all the things he was expecting (a good laugh, weapons grade gossip, blackmail material) a feeling of disorientation wasn't one of them. Somewhere amidst the letters, Jimmy's mind had come to not only accept the voracity of Thomas's professed feelings but to pity him for them. Jimmy hated his own thoughts at that moment. He hated that he cared what had happened (and what actually  _had_  happened?), hated the growing feeling of dread, hated that he couldn't bring himself to read to the end of that last letter.

It must have ended, that much was clear.

_Otherwise why would the Duke ask for me and not Thomas? He was standing right there in front of him in the driveway. He barely even glanced at him._

Unbidden, the image of Thomas's traumatised face when Carson had announced the Duke's impending arrival swam into view before his eyes. This was closely followed by the image of the concerned Thomas who stood between himself and the door in Carson's office. It was hard to reconcile with the enthusiasm and trust conveyed in the letters.

Suddenly Jimmy's mind conjured up the image of his activities earlier that night. Although this time it wasn't him astride the Duke, it was Thomas. The image seemed so very very wrong and refused to be easily dismissed. Jimmy shuddered.

_Did they ever…?_

Jimmy regarded the personal letters scattered about the bed. Suddenly he felt filthy.

With shaking hands, Jimmy began to gather the letters back up.

_Now what?_

An instinct, as strong as the need to pull ones hand out of a flame, spoke loud and clear.

_The Duke can't have these back. Don't bloody ask me why, he just can't._

The fire in his room had long since dwindled, but some glowing embers remained. Jimmy placed the letters into the grating and stirred the embers violently with the poker until the edges of the paper caught light.

He noticed the bow-tie was still wrapped around his fingers and offered it to the flames.

He sat silently watching the letters burn.

He wished he had never seen them.


	11. Chapter 11

'Not really on your game today, are you?' Said the Duke, as he lazed in bed the next morning.

Jimmy had deposited the coffee tray on the desk as before, and was gathering up the Duke's clothes that he hadn't noticed on the floor the previous evening.

_He may know how to operate his own buttons, but the concept of a cupboard is clearly a step too far…_

'Forgive my ill humor, your Grace.' He flashed a winning smile, which fell decidedly short of his eyes. 'It was hard to get to sleep last night.'

'I see.' The Duke rose to stand behind Jimmy as he hung his black dinner jacket back in the cupboard. He hadn't bothered to get into his pyjamas after Jimmy's exit the previous night. He was aware that the cold light of day did nothing good for his translucent skin and skinny frame, but what did that matter in front of 'the help'? He noticed Jimmy's arm muscles stiffen considerably as he wrapped his own arms around to hug him.

'Relax. There's time for a quick one before breakfast.' He said, drawing Jimmy back towards the bed.

Jimmy allowed himself to be maneuvered, shrugging off his jacket before lying back as directed.

The Duke worked off Jimmy's socks and shoes, standing at the bottom of the bed to draw down his trousers and undergarments.

'I'm sure I'm supposed to be the one undressing you.' Jimmy mustered up another smile for the Duke's benefit.

The Duke crawled slowly onto the bed, sliding between Jimmy's legs. 'I don't mind, when the inducement is so appealing…' The Duke ran a hand up Jimmy's thigh, pushing him to spread his legs further, before dipping his head to slowly kiss the inside of his thigh.

_Oh no no no no no._

Jimmy sat up abruptly, his shirt an waistcoat riding up uncomfortably.

'What? Am I not allowed to kiss you anywhere now?'

Forcing back the image of the Duke tending to Thomas in that way, Jimmy extended a hand to draw the Duke up to lie over him.

'It's just that…' Jimmy laughed in what he hoped was a natural way. 'I thought we were just having a quick one?'

The Duke laughed back. 'You know as well as I do that one can't just rush into these things.'

'It's fine, I can take it.'

Above him the Duke snorted in derision.

'No really, I'm ready.'

_You are such a terrible liar little one._

But the Duke was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With minimum ado, the Duke was seated fully inside Jimmy who bit out a considerable amount of skin from the inside of his own cheek to keep himself quiet.

Caught up in the moment, the Duke attempted to capture Jimmy's lips with his. Once again, Jimmy turned away. Sighing in exasperation (although the feeling was admittedly dulled by the explosions of sensation below the waist) the Duke instead held his head to the side of Jimmy's head. His right cheek brushing against Jimmy's as he continued.

Jimmy's nose stung at the scent of the spicy cologne from the Duke's naked shoulder, and ( _Fuck those fucking letters)_ he did indeed notice that beneath the cologne there was another scent entirely. But to Jimmy it did not smell 'earthy' and 'beautiful'; it smelt rotten.

As he was making his way back to the kitchen (the Duke finally dressed) Jimmy saw Thomas making his way up the stairs in the opposite direction.

_Oh hell._

He doubled his efforts to walk normally, and resolutely avoided acknowledging Thomas as they passed on the stairs. He thought he was clear when Thomas suddenly grabbed his wrist.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' Thomas said.

'What?'

Thomas glanced around them to make sure the staircase was clear then continued in a low voice. 'Before you go to the kitchens you need to go your room, get a fresh shirt and wash. I can smell him on you from here.' Thomas released his wrist. 'And fix your bloody hair.'

He turned and continued on his way.

Jimmy stared at the place where Thomas had stood for a long while before he turned to head back up the stairs to his room.

Carson stood in his usual place behind the table as the breakfast drew to a close, Lady Edith and Tom having already excused themselves (Edith to visit the village, Tom to attend to baby Sybil).

'You seem to be in good spirits this morning Duke.' Said Lord Grantham.

'Quite. It's a salute to the rejuvenating effects of Downton!' Smiled the Duke. 'And I am very much looking forward to the ride today.'

'Mmm yes.' Said Matthew after clearing a mouthful of egg. 'As we will be on horseback today, I thought we might have the picnic you were after yesterday. We should be able to reach the Miller's barn if Tom is able. It is not particularly winter-proof, but there is a fire. We often used to use it as a stopping point during the shoot.'

'Perfect.' Said the Duke.

'Could you make the arrangements Carson?' Said Matthew.

'I will advise the groundsman to have the fire lit and send a chauffeur to drop round an attendant with the picnic. I am sure Mrs Patmore will be able to provide an exemplary spread.' Said Carson, secretly wincing at the prospect of informing Mrs Patmore of the unexpected work.

'Marvelous. Perhaps send Mr Barrow again.' Said Matthew.

'Very good sir.' Said Carson.

The Duke smiled. 'I must say, it is heartwarming to see how much Mr Barrow has progressed since I saw him last.'

Lord Grantham shifted uncomfortably.

'Duke, I have been meaning to ask you something, and I hope you won't think it an impertinent question.'

'Yes?'

'You seemed pleased with Mr Barrow's presence yesterday, I was wondering if there was a reason you did not request him to attend you as Valet.'

'Oh I meant no slight on Mr Barrow. I just believe it is important to give Footmen a chance to learn new skills when the situation allows. Clearly, in the case of Mr Barrow, extra duties have allowed him to progress well in his career. And I must say, James is turning out to be a pleasantly diligent worker.'

Lord Grantham relaxed slightly, not noticing the quizzical look Matthew shot him over the breakfast table.


	12. Chapter 12

As the riders reached the hill summit, Matthew silently gave a prayer of thanks that after a few laps of the immediate grounds Tom had proven himself adept enough to venture forward with the Duke and himself into the open countryside. The Duke, mounted on a tawny Arabian had (in Matthew's opinion, and to Toms consternation) certainly made a show of the ease with which he could maneuver the beast. Matthew couldn't deny his pride was somewhat hurt at his inability to keep up with the Duke on his own chestnut brown mount, despite having become very familiar with that particular horse's ways over the past year.

Tom, mounted on a black horse with a white stripe down its nose, had spent the entire ride scowling in intense concentration and did not stray far from the Stablemaster who was accompanying them (and more used to riding behind at a respectful distance rather than having a companion).

As they sat in the Miller's barn (the Stablemaster tending the horses outside) the mood was decidedly frosty.

'This was a marvelous idea, Matthew.' Said the Duke. 'The prospect of Downton was truly pleasant from the top of the mound.'

'Yes, I am exceptionally fond of that spot.'

'Have you enjoyed the day, Tom?' Said the Duke.

'Well enough.' Replied Tom, without enthusiasm.

'Oh don't be glum. I do apologise that Matthew and I rode so far ahead, but the beasts know their own minds. You did a very good job for your first ride.'

'It wasn't my first ride.'

'Oh but you must agree that pottering around the yard of Downton can't compare to the moors.'

Tom dropped his cutlery back on the plate with ferocity. 'There's no need to patronise me.'

'Now now, I'm just saying that I understand that you are trying your best. And it is appreciated.'

'Trying my best? Stop speaking to me like a child!' Tom's voice had risen, along with the colour in his cheeks.

Matthew franticly searched for a change of subject. Caught between the equally undesirable notions of asking either the Duke (his superior and guest) or Tom (his closest friend and colleague) to shut up, he was rendered mute.

'There's no need to be so defensive. Lord Grantham told me you used to be a chauffeur before we came out this morning; I understand that our world must be intimidating…'

'If I had my way, 'your world' would be nothing but an unhappy memory. And it's only since your last visit that this has become  _his_  world, I might add.' Shouted Tom, indicating Matthew.

'Tom please calm down.' Said Matthew.

'You tell me to calm down? Tell him to get to stop acting as though the sun shines out of his arse.'

'Tom, I beg you…' Said Matthew.

'No. Please let him speak.' Smiled the Duke. 'It is always most refreshing to hear people voice their different perspectives.'

'Fuck you.' Tom threw his napkin down on the and after violently scraping his chair back he left the table and stormed out of the barn.

'I am so sorry, your Grace. I should go after him.'

As Matthew left the barn, the Duke turned in his chair to face over to Thomas who was standing to attention at the side of the room.

'Well that wasn't engineered at all...' Said Thomas sarcastically, staring in defiance back at the Duke seated alone at the table.

'I can't imagine what you mean.' The Dukes face creased into a grin. 'Although I have been wondering how to get you alone.'

'Why are you here?' Thomas snapped. The Duke noted the slight quiver in his voice with satisfaction, mistakenly interpreting it as trepidation.

The truth was, Thomas was angry. The events of the past few days had ripped open the disassociated emotional stasis he had cultivated over the past months. The Duke's arrival and Jimmy's cold vilification of his own character had confused and disoriented him, but rage had also started to build. Jimmy's appearance on the stairs that morning had put an irreparable crack in the tenuous façade of emotional restraint he had so carefully honed. And now, the Duke's brazen and triumphant stare crumbled the last vestiges of control. The emotional dam had well and truly broken.

In that moment he was nothing but pure primal hate.

The Duke rose from the table and crossed slowly over to Thomas. Thomas pressed his back tightly against the wall as the Duke approached, his glare full of warning.

'Isn't it obvious? I'm here for the same reason as last time.' The Duke stood close, not touching him but leaving no room for escape. 'And I anticipate this visit meeting with more success.'

Thomas inhaled sharply.

'Let me save you your time.' Thomas's voice was low and dangerous. 'And listen carefully, you  _Dog_.' Thomas's expression was suddenly ferocious. The Duke was caught off guard and took an involuntary step back. Thomas stepped forward, forcing the Duke to keep moving backwards. He enunciated each sentence with a hard stab of his hand to the Duke's chest. 'There is  _no power_  on this earth that could  _possibly_  bring that about. There is  _no threat_  you can muster without implicating yourself. There is  _no inducement_  you could possibly offer. You are  _nothing_ to me. You Pathetic. Deluded. Bastard.'

The back of the Duke's legs bumped against the table, snapping him out of his reverie.

He fixed Thomas's upper arm in a bruising grip as he replied, his words laced with venom, his face twisted into something unearthly and ugly.

'Deluded, am I? You know all I need to do is take his Lordship aside for a private word and inform him that I didn't select you as Valet because you made  _inappropriate_  overtures when I was last here. He's already wondering about my choice. The question was raised over breakfast today in fact.'

Thomas nodded slowly. His eyes wide and patronising. 'Mmm That would have been a fine plan...'

Through the haze of his anger, Thomas noted with satisfaction that the Dukes expression was suddenly wary.

'It's a shame you just couldn't help yourself with regards to James. Isn't it? He might be perfectly willing to degrade himself for personal gain, but I think you'll find that when all things are weighed in the balance he would be more than happy to put all the blame on you to save his own delusions of heterosexuality.' Thomas hissed.

At the thought of Jimmy, the red haze over Thomas's eyes flashed white hot. He violently shoved the Duke back against the table. The table settings rattled and the Duke knocked over a wine glass, which shattered on the floor as he righted himself.

'How the hell did you…?'

'What the Devil is going on in here?' Matthew appeared in the doorway.

Thomas immediately dropped to his knees and began retrieving shards of glass.

'Nothing, I just knocked over a wine glass when I began clearing the plates.' He said. 'The Duke was worried that some wine might have spilt on him.'

'Right.' Said Matthew slowly. 'Well, I have talked Tom into riding back with us to the house. He and I would both like to extend our sincere apologies for the commotion earlier, your Grace. Are you ready to join us now?'

'Yes, I suppose I am.'

Matthew turned and walked out of the door. Retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair the Duke stamped sharply on Thomas's hand, sending several shards of glass through the soft leather glove and into his scarred palm, before moving to follow Matthew.


	13. Chapter 13

'Are the preparations for the Christmas guests on track?' Lord Grantham sat at his desk in the library, sifting through documents as Carson poured tea.

'They are, my Lord. There are some more guest rooms to prepare but the decorations are complete, and the spare servant's rooms have been cleared ready to accommodate the additional staff.' Carson said as he brought the cup over to Robert.

'Marvelous.'

Noting that Carson was lingering, Robert turned to him.

'What is it, Mr Carson?'

Carson shifted uncomfortably. 'My Lord, I wanted to request permission to ask Dr Clarkson to come to Downton as soon as possible.'

'Good God, what's happened?'

'It's a small matter, my Lord. Mr Barrow accidently cut himself while clearing away a broken wine glass at the picnic today.' Carson said, always uncomfortable at having to admit to issues with the staff and service.

'And this requires a doctor…?' Roberts's expression was concerned.

'The cuts are quite deep my Lord, I believe there are some small fragments of glass to be removed and Mr Barrow thinks stitches are required. Due to his medical training, I am inclined to trust his judgment. He is, naturally, unable to tend to his own wound one-handed.'

Robert frowned. 'It's not like Mr Barrow to be that clumsy.'

'No, my Lord. I will admit I was surprised when he returned with the chauffeur with his hand in such a state, it is over the old wound and I believe is causing him quite a bit of distress.'

'Quite.' Robert nodded slowly.

'I could have the car drive him round to Dr Clarkson's practice in the village if you prefer my Lord.'

'No no, telephone Dr Clarkson immediately and ask him to visit Mr Barrow here.'

'Thank you, my Lord.' Carson bowed deeply. Retrieving the tea tray he left the room, stepping back slightly to allow Matthew to pass him.

'Robert, I'm afraid I have to bad tidings to relay.' He said as he sat down heavily on the library sofa by the fire.

'Hmm I just heard. That is a bad business, but I'm sure Dr Clarkson will be able to fix him up. I only hope the event didn't spoil your picnic.'

'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Mr Barrow's injury.'

'What injury?' Matthew sat up.

'Apparently he cut himself on a broken wine glass. If the injury is as bad as Carson says I'm surprised he managed to keep it from you.'

'Oh.' His brow furrowed in a pensive frown, which he dismissed with a shake of his head. 'I suppose that must have happened after we left the barn.'

Robert rose from his desk to sit on the opposite sofa, clutching his tea cup as he went.

'What are the 'bad tidings' you were referring to?'

'I'm afraid to say that Tom and the Duke had something of a falling out during the lunch. I thought I should warn you, as frankly I need some help to keep them from antagonising each other over dinner tonight.'

'Oh Dear.' Robert raised his eyebrows. 'What was the nature of this falling out?'

'Just Tom being Tom, and the Duke being…his  _charming_  self.' Matthew smiled ruefully at Robert.

'Ah, well we shall try to keep them separately occupied this evening.'

On Clarkson's arrival, he and Thomas had stepped out to sit on the benches in the yard to allow the doctor adequate light to work at removing the small slithers of glass ensconced in the two deep cuts on Thomas's palm. Thomas had welcomed the move outside. Having cut his glove off to avoid causing more damage by disturbing the glass fragments, he had been sitting with his hand covered with a towel in the servants hall and hadn't relished the prospect of sitting with his old war wound exposed to all and sundry while Clarkson tended to the fresh cuts. The anger of earlier that day hadn't abated, and he genuinely feared his own response should any of the hall boys or maids ask to see the wound out of morbid curiosity.

'Mr Barrow, try to stop shaking.'

'Sorry, Dr Clarkson.' Thomas replied softly, watching fresh rivulets of blood running down his wrist as Clarkson cut into the skin to remove a particularly tenacious splinter of glass.

'I'm afraid the stitching will hurt as well when we get to that.' Said Clarkson. 'Tell me again how this happened?'

'It's as I said, I was clearing up a breakage and I accidently put my hand on it as I knelt down.'

'These cuts are very deep. Surely you would have realised before this much damage was done?'

Thomas sniffed and spoke in a voice that was decidedly more level than he felt. 'You know how it is, Dr Clarkson. The sensation in my palm never really came back properly.'

Dr Clarkson stared at the old bullet hole and nodded in sympathy. Or rather, as close to sympathy as he could muster for Thomas.


	14. Chapter 14

Jimmy and Alfred barely made it back to the servants hall for dinner on time, they had spent the day working in the guest bedrooms (in between Jimmy getting the Duke in and out of his riding clothes) and the last bed that had to be relocated had required dissembling before it could be moved.

Jimmy noted Thomas's absence from the dinner table first, but suppressed his curiosity, knowing Alfred could always be counted upon.

'Where's Mr Barrow tonight?'

'Up in his room.' Said Mrs Hughes. 'He cut his hand today and the doctor advised the wound be left uncovered for tonight. He didn't want to put us off our dinner.'

'He can always be counted on to be considerate.' Said O'Brien in barbed tones.

She shrank back slightly at a pointed look from Mr Bates.

As he dressed the Duke for dinner, Jimmy had noted that there was something distinctly off about the Duke's mood. Their conversation was terse and brief. His smiles went unreturned.

As he entered the Duke's room after post-dinner drinks he found him still fully dressed, seated at the desk.

_Not a good sign…_

'Is something the matter, your Grace?' Jimmy lingered by the door.

The Duke regarded him with an utterly humorless expression. Jimmy sank back slightly under the glare of the Dukes brown eyes. At length, the Duke spoke.

'Sit down.' The Duke indicated the armchair by the fire.

'I really ought to be helping you with your clothes…' Said Jimmy.

'Sit. Down.'

Jimmy stood resolutely by the door. 'But I thought we could…'

'All in good time, James. And for that reason, I would advise you to do everything in your power to improve my mood. Starting with following my very simple order.'

Jimmy hesitated.

'Now.' Said the Duke tersely.

Jimmy crossed over and sat in the indicated chair. Fidgeting slightly as he waited for the Duke to speak.

'How does Thomas know?'

'About…?'

'Don't feign innocence. While it suits you, I assure you it won't help.'

_Oh God._

'It's silly really.' Said Jimmy, with an attempt at a laugh. 'He met me coming up the stairs this morning on my way back. I was looking disheveled. He figured it out by himself, I didn't tell him.'

'You stupid bitch.' Jimmy bristled at the insult, but the deathly glare from the Duke kept him quiet and fixed in place. 'You have no idea how much trouble you have caused.'

'But…Thomas won't say anything.' Said Jimmy, then added without thinking: 'He couldn't, not without people finding out he has a history with you!'

That distracted the Duke from his anger. 'I had no idea you and Thomas were in one another's confidence...I'm rather surprised you approached me at all.'

'We are bloody not in each other's confidence. I hate him.' Jimmy practically spat the last sentence.

'Interesting. Well, for your sake I am glad to hear it. I have a very low tolerance for people speaking about my personal business. You are lucky that I don't currently have the inclination to punish your indiscretion.'

They sat in silence for a few moments. Jimmy's heart racing nervously.

'Anyway, I do have another query for you. However, I think for the sake of irony we ought to ease the tension first.' Said the Duke.

'Irony?'

'Just strip.'

Within a few minutes the Duke was taking his third, and arguably best, ride of the day. The Duke on the whole abhorred romantic cliché, but as he took Jimmy on his hands and knees in front of the fire he had to admit the play of the light did lend an ethereal quality to the experience. He briefly debated asking Jimmy the question during the event for the sake of his own amusement, but in the end settled for afterwards.

Jimmy stayed sitting on the rug in front of the fire as the Duke climbed up to sit back in the nearby armchair.

'So James, what exactly is your sexual orientation?'

'What does that matter? And why are you asking me this now?'

'You have Thomas to thank for that as well, he said something earlier on today which piqued my interest.'

'What did he say?'

'Just answer the question.'

The answer was nothing but the low crackle of the fire.

'Come now James, I refuse to believe you find this…' The Duke indicated himself and Jimmy, both still naked and sweat slicked. '…a perfectly acceptable activity, but you cannot come out and say you prefer the company of men.'

'I don't. I'm not bloody like that. Men can't love men. It's not natural. And this..' Jimmy repeated the Duke's gesture. '.. is just business.' He drew his knees up to his chest and stared into the fire.

'My goodness, Thomas was right.'

'That I'm not like him?'

'No, that you're deluded.'

Jimmy looked back at the Duke angrily. The Duke held up his hands in mock fear, then laughed heartily.

'You want to know what gives you away?'

Jimmy looked back into the fire, knuckles white as he tightened his hold on his upper arms.

'Believe me, I would understand it if you said you preferred women. You wouldn't be the first man of that inclination to undertake this kind of work. It's surprisingly common in fact, 'needs must' and all.'

If possible, Jimmy drew his knees even closer to his chest. Folding into himself, suddenly appearing impossibly small and childlike. The Duke was surprised at a small wave of affection that washed over him as he watched.

The Duke continued. 'But you…You don't say that you prefer women. You choose instead to say that you don't believe that love is possible between two men. I'm afraid that smacks very much of 'the lady doth protest too much' sentiment.'

'You don't know what you're talking about.' Jimmy eventually choked back.

'Oh it's no matter to me if you admit it or not, I was just curious. Now come up here. I'm getting a little cold in this chair by myself.'

Jimmy moved to join the Duke in the armchair, placing a knee either side of the Dukes hips to straddle him. The Duke gripped Jimmy's waist with both hands, looking up into his eyes. Running a hand up Jimmy's side, he gripped his neck, drawing him down. For a moment they were almost nose to nose, sharing the same breath, but when the Duke went to close the distance Jimmy once again turned abruptly away.

'Please stop trying to kiss me.' He said softly. The Duke gave him a reproachful look.

He ran a thumb along Jimmy's hip bone. 'While we're on the subject, I've noticed that's not the only thing you won't let me do.' The Duke pointedly stopped short of Jimmy's private parts. 'You should allow yourself the odd orgasm, you know. This situation is not good for my pride.'

Jimmy didn't reply. Fighting the rising blush in his cheeks he reached a hand between the Dukes legs. Anything to shut him up.

'It's a good thing your emotional welfare isn't my problem.' Sighed the Duke, giving over to the sensations.

'Then bloody shut up about it.' Snapped Jimmy, frustrated that his techniques of distraction were failing. He suddenly found the Duke's nails cruelly digging into his wrist.

'Speak to me like that again and I will put your head through the wall.'

'I'm sorry.' He replied quickly.

'I do pity you, little one.' Said the Duke, relaxing and stroking the inside of Jimmy's wrist in time with Jimmy's ministrations to his own skin.

Taking in Jimmy's lean, taunt and tanned young flesh with an appreciative gaze the Duke added. 'But you are magnificent, nonetheless.'


	15. Chapter 15

Across the landing and down the corridor a significantly more orthodox sexual encounter had drawn to a close. Mary and Matthew kissed leisurely, their moves practiced and sensual. Matthew ran a gentle hand down Mary's cheek as she pulled away and smiled at him, his other hand gently stroking her waist.

'I've been meaning to ask you something Mary…'

She moved to lay her head on his chest.

'Mmm?'

'Did anything odd happen during Crowborough's last visit?'

She leaned up on her elbow.

'I hate to say this, my love, but your pillow talk could use some work.' She teased.

Matthew smiled and planted a quick kiss on her nose.

'I know. It's just…he seems to make everyone uneasy and I was wondering if there was a reason?'

'You mean aside from him racing to Downton when he thought me an heiress and throwing me over when that proved to be false.' Mary said, laughing.

Matthew winced slightly, as he did whenever the subject of Mary's ordeal regarding the entail was broached.

'Lord Grantham has made no secret of his distaste for the Duke on that account, I was just wondering if there was anything else?'

Mary lay back, playing with an errant tendril of her soft brown hair as she considered.

'Well there was something odd. During the day we spent together he asked me to give him a tour of the servant's corridor.'

'For what reason?'

'To be honest, I was never quite sure. I thought it was because he wanted to speak with me in a place the family would not disturb us. But he seemed more interested in going through the things in one of the footmen's bedroom rather than my company.'

'Which footman was it?'

'Thomas. Or, Mr Barrow I should say now. The Duke joked at the time that he was conducting some sort of anthropological experiment. I never gave it much thought afterwards.'

Matthew frowned. 'Do you think he stole something?'

'What could a footman possibly have that a Duke would desire?'

'I wonder.'

Mary leaned up on her elbow again to meet Matthew's eyes. 'Has something happened?'

'There's just something about the Duke that just doesn't sit right with me, that's all. I'm just trying to puzzle it out….Do you know why Robert was nervous about Crowborough choosing James as Valet over Mr Barrow?'

'Ah, now that I can answer, thanks to Anna. Papa was worried that the Duke may have heard some errant gossip. But before I tell you, you must promise not to be shocked about my knowing about such things.' Said Mary with mock seriousness.

'My word, now you certainly have my attention…' Said Matthew with merriment in his eyes.

Up on the servant's corridor, Jimmy moved swiftly to Thomas's door. Pushing it open he roughly shook Thomas awake.

'What…?' Thomas's eyes widened when he recognised Jimmy in the light streaming in from the corridor.

'I just got a dressing down from the Duke because of your bloody big mouth.' Jimmy snarled at him.

Thomas wrinkled his nose slightly, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

'Well it would appear that's not all he gave you tonight.' He said blinking back the sleep in his eyes. 'That bloody cologne.' He muttered, more to himself than Jimmy. His sleepy state mercifully dulling the rage of earlier that day.

'Why did you tell him?'

'That he's sleeping with you? I would have thought he was already aware…'

'This isn't bloody funny.' Jimmy retorted, reluctantly keeping the rising volume of his voice in check to avoid waking the other servants. 'You stay the hell out of it!'

'I tried…' Thomas began, but Jimmy had already turned his heel and stepped into the corridor. 'Jimmy!' He called as loudly as he dared.

At the sound of Jimmy's bedroom door closing (with more gusto than appropriate for the late hour) Thomas briefly debated going after him, but decided against it. He doubted he would get away with being caught in an irate Jimmy's bedroom a second time, whatever the reason. Staring down at his disfigured hand he found himself wishing that Jimmy had noticed the fresh cuts, at least that would have provided a jumping off point for the inevitable and awkward conversation he was going to have to have with Jimmy at some point.

'It's fine. I'll fill him in tomorrow.' He reassured himself, not relishing the prospect.

With a groan, Thomas sank back against his pillow.

After tending to the practicalities of washing (treating his skin roughly with the soap) Jimmy sank into bed. He refused to tend to his own arousal and did his best to wipe the thoughts of skin and sweat from his mind. When sleep came, it was fitful and restless. Unwillingly he relived the events of the evening in his dreams. He shifted violently in bed when, at the moment where he sat astride the Duke's lap in the armchair, it was suddenly instead Thomas's breath on his lips. The scent and sensation of the skin of the apparition shifted to complete the illusion. And when 'Thomas' leaned to close the distance between their lips…

Jimmy started awake. Breathing heavily he stared at the ceiling in disgust.

Back in the guest room, the Duke was also suffering fitful sleep. In his mind's eye he slowly ran his hands over the deliciously pliant body of the Thomas of eight years ago,  _his_ Thomas, who stared up at him with eyes wide in wonder at the unfamiliar sensations. But the image refused to hold. Thomas's open and exultant face kept morphing into the ferocious and hostile visage from earlier that day. Shaking his head in frustration, the Duke rose and moved towards the leather trunk at the foot of the bed.

_Just a little reminder. Just a little reassurance. Just a moment to revive the image…_


	16. Chapter 16

When asked 'Where are my letters?' the next morning, Jimmy could have perhaps gotten away with the classic response (used when one is guilty of theft of an item one should not know existed): 'What letters?'

Unfortunately, after yet another night of poor sleep Jimmy's brain refused to co-operate under pressure. Instead he stood in front of the Duke (who had once again taken matters into his own hands, and was already dressed for breakfast) as though caught immobile in the path of an oncoming train, mouth slightly agape. His eyes shifted reflexively towards the leather trunk where he had found them. The Duke noticed.

Jimmy's blood suddenly felt like ice. He backed towards the slightly open door, the Duke followed him. 'I'm sorry!' Jimmy flinched as the Duke pushed him, simultaneously closing the door and pinning him in place with a hand on each shoulder. His pulse thundered.

'They'll be expecting you at breakfast, your Grace.'

The Duke gave a patronising smile and nod.

_Nice try._

'Why did you take them?' He said.

Jimmy was not all that sure of the answer himself. He struggled to relax himself to be able to more effectively assess a way out of the situation. The Duke noticed the shift in Jimmy's panic and (in the spirit of keeping ones subject off kilter for a more efficient interrogation) moved a hand to tightly grip Jimmy's throat, shoving him forcefully back against the door.

'Why?' He shouted.

'I'm sorry!' Jimmy choked out.

'I didn't ask if you were 'sorry'.' The Duke spat at him. His voice was low, angry, but level. 'I asked why you stole my personal letters. And I swear to God, if you even thought of using the letters to blackmail Thomas or myself, I will immerse you in a world of pain for the rest of your miserable life.'

The Duke relaxed the hand at Jimmy's neck slightly, as Jimmy coughed and struggled for breath. The beginnings of tears forming in the corners of his eyes; he shook his head for want of a response.

The Duke leaned in to speak in hushed tones directly into Jimmy's ear.

'Let's start with prison, shall we? How about that to be getting on with? Although I suppose prison would hold few surprises for you. It would be just like one of Anstruther's parties, no?' The Duke noted with satisfaction that Jimmy had begun shaking slightly. 'Well, aside from the fact that in Prison they don't tend to stop when you bleed…'

Jimmy let out an anguished sob.

'Why did you take my letters?'

'I was…I was just curious. I'm sorry!' Jimmy was crying freely, the Duke could feel each sharp exhale in the rise and fall of his chest.

'Curious?' Said the Duke, flatly.

He released his hold on Jimmy's throat, still holding him up against the door by his shoulder.

The Duke took a moment to admire his handiwork.

_He's going to pieces, and no mistake._

The reference to Lord Anstruther's 'specialist' parties had been a shot in the dark, but an undeniably good one. For all the Duke knew, Jimmy simply provided Lord Anstruther with a pleasant diversion when he visited his mother from the continent and had no involvement in the more complex of his master's deviations. Still, here was the proof. The Duke took in Jimmy's tears with satisfaction, pleased to have discovered something even more unmistakably damning to hold over him in the future.

_If only I had something equivalent over…_

'Thomas.'

That immediately brought the Duke back to the present moment.

'I was curious about Thomas. Ok?' Jimmy said between sobs. 'I recognised his handwriting, and I just…wanted to know more. I swear I didn't know what they were about, or I would have never have taken them.'

'You took the letters, of someone you 'hate' out of pure curiosity with no inclination towards blackmail?' The Duke spoke slowly, dangerously. A terrible suspicion was growing in his gut.

'I suppose I did.' Jimmy replied in a small voice, refusing to meet the Duke's eyes.

'Someone you hate?'

'Yes.' But Jimmy had taken a fraction of a second too long to respond.

The Duke stepped back, relaxing his hold on Jimmy's right shoulder with his left hand and moving his free hand to grasp Jimmy's right wrist. The hold was gentle and Jimmy relaxed slightly.

'What is there between you and Thomas?' Said the Duke, his voice suddenly a little too warm and pleasant. Upon hearing that particular voice, those acquainted with his Grace would have usually preferred to jump out of a window than continue in the same room as him. Sadly, Jimmy had no foreknowledge to assist him and his instincts were decidedly rusty.

'There's nothing.' He replied.

'Don't lie to me.'

'I'm not ly….'

The Duke pulled Jimmy forwards by his arm, stepping sideways as he deliberately unbalanced him. Keeping hold of his wrist as Jimmy fell past him, the Duke yanked sharply on his right arm.

Jimmy howled as his arm came away from it's socket. The Duke noted the arm 'give' with satisfaction, and released it as Jimmy dropped to the floor. He landed heavily on his side shivering in pain.

The Duke stood poised by the bedroom door for a second to see if anyone was coming to investigate the noise, his hands lingering over the key. There was no sound in the corridor.

'Now then, where were we…?'

Jimmy had drawn himself to sit upright against the side of the bed.

The Duke dropped down to his knees to be on eye level with Jimmy.

'What is between you and Thomas?'

'There really is nothing.' Jimmy said desperately.

'Perhaps you misunderstood my question. Believe me, I can tell that the two of you aren't skipping through a field of daisies. Perhaps the question should be; What  _has_  been between you?' The Duke accompanied the last sentence by digging his fingers into Jimmy's wounded shoulder, earning another shout.

'He kissed me once.' Jimmy blurted out. 'He just came in to my room one night and kissed me.'

'So you  _were_  together?' The Duke suddenly felt as though the floor were sliding away under him, he kept ahold of himself by once again squeezing tightly on Jimmy's shoulder.

'No.' Jimmy shouted. 'I didn't want or ask him to. And I threw him out as soon as he did.'

'A one sided attachment then?' Said the Duke pensively. Jimmy nodded quickly.

_But an attachment nonetheless…_

'I…I burnt the letters.' Jimmy added, preempting the Duke's next question. He winced in anticipation of the inevitable blow that would follow. The Duke simply looked at him quizzically, having recovered quickly from the implication that Thomas could care for someone else and moving swiftly onto the potential utility of this new information.

_Could Thomas still care for this filthy creature? He knows, or at least suspects, what he's been doing with me…_

'I didn't think it right that you should have them, when…well, when the two of you aren't together any more. They were so personal, it just didn't seem right. I'm sorry about that too.' Again, Jimmy flinched. But the Duke seemed too preoccupied with his thoughts to much care about the announcement.

_It's not like Thomas to easily extract his feelings from a situation that has become…complicated…_

_Definite possibilities..._

Jimmy anticipated the worst when the Duke finally spoke, 'You go through  _my_ things, steal  _my_  private property and then proceed to pass judgment on  _my_  relationship…' But the words lacked venom, and Jimmy had the distinct feeling the Duke's mind had gone elsewhere and that he was merely going through the motions of reproaching him. Something of a surprise, but undoubtedly a welcome one.

'I think we are done here, James. Thank you for your time.' Said the Duke quietly, rising from the floor.

_It was fun while it lasted, little whore. And I hope to have more reasons to thank you shortly._

Jimmy struggled to get onto his feet, using his good arm to pull himself up by the bedframe.

The Duke extended an arm and brushed his fingers gently over Jimmy's dislocated shoulder. 'It's a shame you were so careless on the stairs on your way back to the kitchens wasn't it.' His eyes looked searchingly into Jimmy's, until Jimmy gave a small nod. The Duke turned away and moved to pick up his morning coffee. 'Instruct Carson to send the carrot-haired one to replace you.'


	17. Chapter 17

Ivy's face lit up as Jimmy appeared in the kitchen doorway, but quickly fell when she saw his expression.

'What's happened?'

Jimmy had spent the slow walk down to the kitchens attempting to compose himself, keeping his right arm as immobile as possible on the way. But on being confronted with Ivy's earnest expression his masculine pride completely betrayed him. As Mrs Patmore and Daisy emerged from the larder he burst into tears.

Mrs Patmore looked first at Jimmy then at Ivy in shock.

'What on earth have you done to him?'

'Nothin'…'

'I fell. I fell down the stairs Mrs Patmore.' He said, attempting a smile as his eyes continued to water. 'I think I've hurt my arm.'

'Oh my word….Ivy, run and get Mrs Hughes…come and sit down.'

Jimmy shook his head and stayed propped up in the doorframe on his good arm as Ivy reluctantly moved out of the kitchen towards Mrs Hughes office.

'Are you alright?' Said Daisy tentatively.

_Do I bloody well look 'alright'?_

Jimmy shook his head again.

Ivy appeared again, Mrs Hughes in tow.

Mrs Hughes regarded Jimmy with concern. He shrank back from her gaze, leaning his head on his shoulder to stare at the floor.

'What happened?' She said.

'I fell down the stairs.' He choked out, the smile refusing to return despite his best efforts. 'I think my arms out of its socket.'

'Well well. I've never seen anyone go to such lengths to get out of helping with the Christmas rush!' Mrs Hughes said attempting joviality.

Jimmy's attempted laugh came out as a strangled sob.

'Should I get Mr Carson to phone for Dr Clarkson?' Said Ivy, her face full of concern.

Mrs Patmore rolled her eyes slightly. 'Calm down girl, this is hardly life or death!'

'But…'

'No, no.' Mrs Hughes interjected. 'We ought to get Thomas to look at it first.'

'What? Why?' Said Jimmy, standing up as though preparing to bolt.

'Now I know you two have had your differences, but he is our resident medic after all. He trained in the war, you know.' Mrs Hughes looked at Jimmy reproachfully, before softening her expression again. 'He might be able to just pop it back in for you.'

Noting Jimmy's fearful expression she continued. 'If he thinks you've broken anything and need the doctor, then we will of course telephone him straight away. Now, go to your room and rest. I will send Thomas up as soon as we find him.'

Jimmy jerked his head in a quick nod, wincing in fresh pain as he turned to ascend the stairs again.

'Do you want a cup of tea or anything?' Ivy called out after him, Jimmy didn't reply.

'Oh leave him alone, you silly mare.' Said Mrs Patmore.

Mrs Hughes still stood by the doorway looking slightly flustered. 'Honestly, Mrs Patmore, first Thomas now this. And we have near on ten guests arriving the day after tomorrow. Mr Carson is going to have a fit.'

'Can I please be there when you tell him?' Said Mrs Patmore, a hint of merriment in her eyes.

Jimmy jumped as he heard a knock at his bedroom door. 'Come in.' He called reluctantly, moving away from standing by the fire to sit on his bed.

Alfred and Thomas entered. It was hard to tell which of them looked more uneasy.

'Why'd you bring him?' Said Jimmy, indicating Alfred, as he stared at the floor in a pitiful attempt to hide his red eyes.

'To hold your hand, of course.' Said Thomas with more than a hint of snark. Alfred bristled slightly next to him.

'Come on.' Thomas said to Alfred. 'Help me get his shirt off.'

They moved towards Jimmy who very grudgingly released his tight grip on the wounded arm to allow them to attend to the task.

'Well at least nothing seems broken.' Said Thomas after a few highly awkward minutes of Alfred and Jimmy watching his movements intensely during the examination. 'I think I can get it back in. Hold him steady by the other shoulder will you?' He said to Alfred. Alfred moved to sit next to Jimmy, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and, to Thomas's amusement, offered his other hand to Jimmy to clasp. Jimmy didn't take it.

Crouching before Jimmy, Thomas maneuvered his arm into a right angle to lie across his stomach. He loosely held Jimmy's upper arm with his good hand, his black-leather gloved hand (an impromptu cover-up) gripping Jimmy's wrist.

'This is going to hurt.'

He began to rotate the arm outwards.

It didn't go in on the first try, Jimmy's cries setting both Thomas and Alfred's teeth on edge, but at the second attempt the joint snapped back.

The effect was almost instant. Jimmy let out a final shout, then panted in relief.

'Thank god for that.' Said Thomas, breathing a little heavily himself. Alfred looked as though he was about to faint.

'Now, James, I just have to run through a few things about how to manage your arm over the next few days…' Said Thomas. Looking across at Alfred he added, 'Thank you. I can take it from here.'

With a brief reassuring squeeze of Jimmy's shoulder, Alfred rose quickly to leave.

Thomas followed him to the door, closing it softly behind him.

He turned back to Jimmy, his facial expression darkening as he crossed the room.

'I think you and I should have a talk, don't you?'


	18. Chapter 18

Without the pain of the dislocated shoulder to distract him, Jimmy was suddenly very very uncomfortable in Thomas's presence. The places where Thomas had touched his arm, shoulder and hand seemed to burn. In fact he felt hot all over. He was nethertheless compelled to defensively cross his good arm across his naked chest, ostensibly to keep warm.

Thomas had come to a halt in front of him, still a respectable distance away (although Jimmy absently calculated he could most likely kick him if he wanted to). He stared unflinchingly at Jimmy who had stayed sitting on the bed, staring at the floor. Jimmy's mind had already gone to work compartmentalising and repressing the dealings with the Duke, so he attempted to focus entirely on the task at hand: Getting Thomas the hell out of his room as quickly as humanly possible.

_Of course he's been waiting for the chance to get me alone for a fucking lecture._

_I should never have talked to him about it in the first place._

_And why exactly DID I do that?...[Devil of a risk to take just to upset someone, Jimmy boy, wasn't it?]_

_I'll just tell him it's done. Finished. Easy. Not that it's any of his bloody business._

Jimmy honestly had no idea why, but a sense of shame and foreboding had taken hold, colouring his cheeks a ruddy scarlet. With a brief (nervous) glance upwards, he prepared to speak. But he was shocked into silence by the level of anger in Thomas's expression. He looked abruptly back down again.

_I can't deal with this now. (Or ever)._

'I don't feel like talking.' Said Jimmy. His voice came out as more of a croak, not having recovered from the ordeal of the re-setting. The thought of how much he had hollered a few moments earlier deepened the colour of his cheeks.

Thomas remained immobile, a haunting white and black statue.

'Well…' Thomas finally spoke. His lips twitching into a tiny and sour smile. 'We'll just wait here 'til you do. Wont we?'

Jimmy sniffed and bit his lip. 'I don't feel well.'

'I know.'

'Please get out.'

Thomas slowly shook his head.

For what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, Jimmy found himself blinking back unwanted water from his eyes. His mind searched for something to latch on to in an attempt to regain some control, or at least dignity. His eyes settled on the discarded shirt next to him on the bed, but he quickly discounted the option of trying to get it back on again. He had no idea how mobile the re-set shoulder would be, and the thought of struggling in front of Thomas (or worse, Thomas offering and compelling him to accept his aid) was completely unthinkable.

_At least he looks like he's about to cry too._

Jimmy had to admit, despite being awash in a sea of extreme discomfort, he was curious as to precisely what Thomas wanted to say.

_[Just like you were when you recognised his handwriting on those letters, eh Jimmy?]_

_[And that worked out so well…]_

Jimmy forced himself to meet Thomas's eyes.

'Ok, talk.' He said.

Thomas swallowed nervously. Now that the moment was upon him, he wanted nothing more than to bolt out of the room. But a sense of obligation ( _Duty….yes, that's the word_ ) compelled him onwards.

'Tell me what really happened.' Thomas said, his tentative voice giving away the maelstrom of emotions behind his angry expression.

'I don't know what you mean.'

'This wasn't an accident.' Thomas paused, knowing the answer with absolute certainty but still reluctant to have it confirmed. 'He did this, didn't he?'

Jimmy forgot himself for a moment, blurting out 'How could you possibly know that?' before realising he had accidently confirmed Thomas's assertion. He mentally kicked himself.

'Seemed a fair assumption given the  _accident_  I had yesterday.' Said Thomas quietly.

Jimmy looked up at him with a furrowed brow, noticing for the first time the way that Thomas had been clasping his black-leather gloved hand in his right…in much the same way he was holding his own shoulder at that point; Gently and defensively, as though to hide the appendage from prying eyes.

He also noticed how long it took for Thomas to force himself to unclasp his hands. There was a further pause as he took far too long to work off the leather glove. Despite the situation (and Thomas's painful facial expression) Jimmy found viewing the gesture somewhat erotic.

_Jesus. Get a bloody grip._

Thomas held his open palm out to Jimmy, as though offering a morsel of food to a not-quite-tame deer, and stood uncomfortably as Jimmy's eyes widened.

Having never seen Thomas's hand uncovered in daylight before, Jimmy was more horrified by the old scarring than the freshly sewn cuts.

But Thomas's discomfort was so palpable that he did his level best to disregard it.

'The Duke did that?' He said quietly.

'Yes.' Said Thomas, snatching his hand away but not replacing the glove (which he was handling nervously in his other hand). 'And I think you're as likely to take a bad tumble down the stairs as I am to willingly stick my hand in a pile of glass.'

Jimmy nodded, an ingrained mental image of the scarring distracted him momentarily from wondering precisely what had led to the Duke injuring Thomas.

'Did he….did he do it because of me?' Said Thomas.

At Jimmy's puzzled look, Thomas nervously (and unwillingly) clarified.

'Was it because of what I did? You said last night that he was angry that I knew the two of you were….' Thomas (becoming increasingly flustered) could not for the life of him think of an appropriate verb. '…well, he was angry when I told him I knew. That's why he did this.' Thomas brandished his hand.

Jimmy stared at him in shock. He briefly contemplated nodding, but couldn't quite bring himself to do so. The events of that morning had sapped his ability to willfully deceive (or at least, to  _convincingly_  willfully deceive). So he did nothing, not realising that hesitation could be seen as confirmation in itself.

Thomas suddenly looked utterly devastated. 'I'm so sorry! The Duke and I were arguing, I had no right to bring you into it…'

'No!'

_I can't bloody let him think this is his fault._

_[And WHY not?]_

_Because it's not his fault._

_[Is that all?]_

'It had….' Jimmy stopped. He couldn't very well say it had 'nothing' to do with Thomas… 'It was my fault….' Deliberately without taking a moment to think (or rather, talk himself out of it) he continued. 'I stole your letters from him. He discovered the theft and confronted me about it this morning….I found them in his room, recognised your handwriting and I read them because I was….curious.' He finished lamely. He involuntarily flinched, partly expecting Thomas to react the same way as the Duke. In truth Jimmy was more hoping, rather than expecting, Thomas would react violently….he feared the alternative would be worse.

The look on Thomas's face confirmed his fear.

Thomas started shaking, barely perceptibly at first but his movements rapidly increased to an uncontrolled shuddering. 'You read…Oh God.'

Thomas brought his hand up to cover his mouth, screwing up his eyes as he turned on his heel to pace in small circles round the room. 'Oh God.' Multiple times, Thomas thought he had gathered himself enough to face Jimmy again…then suddenly another snippet of what he had written forced itself to the forefront of his memory and he had to turn away again. 'OH GOD!'

'I'm so sorry, Mr Barrow. I had no right.' Offered Jimmy desperately.

That brought Thomas back out of himself.

'Are you serious!?' He exclaimed. 'You read  _my_ love letters to the man  _you_ are fucking! Do you not think we're past 'Mr Barrow'?'

'I'm sorry Thomas.' Jimmy replied instantly.

Deciding that he couldn't make the situation much worse, Jimmy went for broke. 'What actually happened between the two of you?'

'Nothing.' Replied Thomas quietly. 'I mean, nothing beyond what you know. He threw me over. He…decided I wasn't worth his trouble. I got angry and….desperate and I threatened to blackmail him. So he burned the letters he had sent to me so that I had no evidence. I can't believe he kept the letters I sent to him, it's been eight bloody years.'

Jimmy couldn't resist pushing his luck further.

'So you never…?'

Thomas winced, strongly suspecting he knew what Jimmy was referring to.

'No.'

Jimmy spent a moment reproaching himself for being shameless enough to ask (and convincing himself that he was absolutely  _not_ happy that Thomas had replied in the negative).

_After all, it's nothing to me. Is it?_

Jimmy continued. 'He had the letters hidden in the false bottom of a trunk. The compartment was dusty, so I thought he wouldn't know they were missing. But he must have tried to look at them last night, I don't know why.'

'Where are they now?'

'I burnt them.' Jimmy paused, but Thomas didn't react. 'It was a snap decision, I just decided he shouldn't have them. They were so personal and…dangerous to you.'

_And he didn't bloody deserve to have any piece of you._

_[Where did THAT come from?]_

'I suppose there is a sense of poetic justice in that….So the Duke was angry that you'd destroyed the letters then?'

Jimmy frowned.

_Was that why he was angry…?_

'I think what annoyed him most was that I stole them in the first place.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas took a few deep breaths. 'No matter.' He said, doing a very unconvincing impression of disinterest but Jimmy was desperate for a change of subject and didn't push the issue. 'The important thing is we need to get him out of Downton. If we go to his Lordship and tell him that the Duke caused the damage to my hand and to your arm, then he will have to ask him to leave. With the evidence from both of us… it is a reason for the Duke's leaving that no one could dispute. I get the distinct impression his Lordship wants him gone anyway…'

Thomas noted that Jimmy had started shaking his head.

'What?' Thomas moved to crouch down in front of Jimmy. 'You don't have to be scared of him. He can't say anything about you without implicating himself, you know that. And if he does get nasty you could surely use whatever he…gave you in exchange for your services as leverage.'

'It was a forged document and no I can't. There's no proof of what was asked for in exchange. He could just accuse me of blackmailing him over some lesser issue. The Duke will leave when he wants to leave and there's nothing I can do to bring that about any sooner. Can you please just let it lie? Despite appearances, he and I ended our arrangement amicably. I got what I wanted and he decided my utility was at an end. Alfred will act as Valet and we will be shot of the Duke after Christmas at the latest.'

'He pulled your arm out of its socket, and you want to just leave it? It will be a simple matter. Lord Grantham looks after his staff's welfare.' Thomas pleaded.

Jimmy once again burst into tears.

'What's the matter?' Said Thomas. He debated putting his hand on Jimmy's wrist to comfort him, but quickly dismissed the notion.

'I can't do anything against him.' Said Jimmy.

'Why not? Right now you look like a victim to me, his Lordship wouldn't give the Duke a chance to question it.'

Something snapped inside Jimmy's head, unchecked words escaped rapidly from his lips (so rapidly that Thomas had trouble following).

'This isn't…you know this isn't the first time I have done something like this. The Duke knows my previous employer, we spoke about it on the day we met…and today. I didn't leave Lady Anstruther because she was going to France. I left because the fallout from a massive scandal, involving a whole host of noblemen, was threatening to extend to her son and they wanted me out of the way in case the police decided to pursue the matter…despite all the money they threw at keeping his involvement quiet.'

Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise, but otherwise did his best to keep his expression blank.

Thomas spoke warily, trying to reassure Jimmy as much as himself. 'That's no good to the Duke. He can't shop one of his fellow…well, one of his fellow nobles. He'd never be allowed to get away with it. It's like some sort of unspoken code.'

_And if he can…I have a horrible feeling I know where this is going…_

Jimmy shook his head again desperately. 'I know that, but he can find out from Anstruther where he…found me… all it would take is for the police or the Duke to apply pressure to the right bar manager in Manchester and he can get hundreds of ways to sink me.'

Thomas was overcome with a wave of nausea, and caught between the conflicting urges to either punch Jimmy or attempt a sympathetic hug. In the end, his body decided that inappropriate hysterics was the only viable response. Rising from the floor he began pacing the room again, this time wracked with uncontrollable laughter.

'….Hundreds?' He said. His eyes wide and incredulous.

Jimmy blushed an even deeper shade of red, wishing he had chosen his words more carefully and intensely embarrassed by Thomas's response.

'Ok, that is a slight exaggeration. But do you see why I can't do anything against the Duke?' He said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

But Thomas's peals of laughter continued unabated, although anger had unmistakably begun to creep in again. 'You blackmail Mr Carson into destroying my life for a kiss….and you seriously have the gall to say 'hundreds'?...You hypocritical bastard!'

Jimmy stirred uncomfortably.

Thomas fixed Jimmy with a gaze (through tears of laughter) that was a curious mix of pity and mocking.

Jimmy winced. 'Don't bloody look at me like that.'

'HUNDREDS?!' Shouted Thomas.

'There's this funny thing about eating…ideally one likes to have the money to do it every day.' Jimmy blurted out.

That, at least, killed Thomas's hysterics.

'I joined up straight out of school, lied about my bloody age, and by the time I got back…well, you know my parents are dead. I had no family, no home, no experience, no money…nothing. You tell me, what the hell could I do? There are people with decades of experience who couldn't get work after the war!'

'How can you still hold your head up?' Said Thomas in disbelief.

'It's just business.'

'How can letting yourself be used in….that way…ever be 'just' business?'

'What the hell would you know about it?'

It was undeniably a low blow, but Jimmy was past caring. Any hopes he had that the comment would (at least temporarily) get Thomas to shut up were quickly dashed.

'I've been close enough to know there's supposed to be more than friction and personal gain involved.' Said Thomas.

Jimmy scoffed at him.

Thomas continued. 'Feelings, comfort, pleasure, trust...Are  _any_  of these familiar to you?'

For a while, Jimmy's strangled breathing was the only sound in the room.

'There's something else, isn't there?' Said Thomas at length.

'What do you mean?' Jimmy hissed.

'Well…' Thomas considered his next words very carefully. '…There are other ways to make money. Something must have happened to make you go…that way… Most men would rather die.'

'There was something.' Jimmy said, his mind suddenly a million miles away. He abruptly caught hold of himself and snapped back. 'But it's none of your goddamn business.'

Thomas nodded in agreement, suddenly feeling exceptionally tired and very eager to conclude the discussion.

Thomas went to walk to the door, but paused with his hand hovering over the door knob.

He spoke more to the wood of the door than to Jimmy. 'Just tell me this…why did you do this to yourself now? You have a position as footman in one of the finest houses in the country. Are you not satisfied?'

'Were you?' Said Jimmy simply.

No malice, no venom, just a statement…a statement that hit Thomas like a punch in the gut.

He sniffed and rested his head against the door for a moment.

He turned back to Jimmy.

'Where do you keep your undershirts?'

'What?' Jimmy was caught off guard.

'Because you look cold, and I don't think that…' Thomas indicated the white dress-shirt still discarded on the bed. '…will be that comfortable to sleep in.'

'Top drawer.' Jimmy said.

Thomas crossed the room to retrieve one. After some awkward maneuvering, during which Thomas's hands did not linger for a second longer than necessary on contact with skin, they got him into it.

'No work for you for the rest of today.' He said. 'Don't try to raise it over your head for a bit, and try to avoid using it when you're back in the game tomorrow…at least for the next few days if possible.'

Jimmy nodded.

Thomas retrieved the dress-shirt from the bed and moved to replace it in the cupboard.

'Thank you.' Said Jimmy quietly.

'Anything else for the patient?' Said Thomas, over his shoulder.

'Thomas….was there anything else? I mean, did the Duke threaten you at all ….You know, when he hurt your hand?'

Thomas paused for a fraction of a second.

'Where on earth would you get an idea like that? Of course not! He was just annoyed about me knowing about his private business.' Said Thomas, putting on the performance of his life. 'And that doesn't matter now that your 'business' is concluded, does it?'

'I suppose not.' Said Jimmy. 'But I am sorry…I'm sorry you had to know anything about it. And really, thank you for this.' Jimmy indicated his shoulder. 'And for still talking to me after…listening.'

'You're welcome.' Said Thomas with a forced but friendly smile, barely able to process Jimmy's words over the screaming in his own head.


	19. Chapter 19

Thomas wandered further away from the servant's quarters than usual for his mid-afternoon smoke. Having to answer the queries of seemingly every individual of the downstairs staff regarding Jimmy's injury (in particular a flustered and irate Carson and an overly emotional Ivy) had worn his nerves to shreds. O'Brien's blatant crowing over Alfred's temporary promotion hadn't helped. He had considered taking Alfred to one side after lunch to make a show of offering him tips on how to best serve the Duke for the sake of appearances, but didn't trust his own emotions to hold.

Focusing entirely on breathing the acrid smoke in and out of his lungs as he lent against a tree by the garden path, Thomas tried to allow himself the luxury of  _not_  thinking about the morning's events. He failed miserably. He attempted to revert to his old standby of bitterness, sarcasm and snark to dull the sting. That failed too.

'Well it's not like my opinion of Jimmy could get any lower. Should have worn gloves on  _both_  hands before I touched him.' He muttered to himself.

_He was desperate and alone…Damn whatever led him to think that was the only option…Or forced him to…_

'Reading my personal letters! They probably gave the prejudiced and hypocritical git nightmares.'

_Oh God, the things I wrote in those letters….He could have blackmailed me…Did he really burn them to protect me…?_

'He deserved what he got, you don't muck about with people with the power to hurt you. The Duke should have roughed him up more to teach him a lesson.'

_The Duke should burn in hell for what he's done…And if I had never tried to blackmail the Duke when he broke it off with me we wouldn't be in this goddamn situation…_

'Bloody typical. First he shoves his dealings with the Duke in my face to hurt me, then he falls out with him once I've finally found a way to make that knowledge useful. Probably did it on purpose just to spite me.'

_I shouldn't have used Jimmy to threaten the Duke in the first place…This is my mess, I had no right…_

Lost in dark thoughts, Thomas took a while to register the figure walking down the footpath back to Downton.

_Oh shit._

Thomas had forgotten Bates had left Downton directly after lunch to visit the cottage.

_So much for peaceful solitude…Well, solitude._

'Good afternoon, Mr Barrow.' He said, coming to a stop besides Thomas.

'Good afternoon, Mr Bates.' Said Thomas. He stared off into the distance, hoping to give Bates the hint to move along.

'I was rather hoping to catch you alone, actually.'

'And why's that, Mr Bates?' Said Thomas in a decidedly weary voice.

'I wanted to ask you about Jimmy.'

'I thought you already did this morning. I assure you not much has changed in the last few hours. Bed-rest and back on light duties tomorrow. I'll see you back in the servant's hall later.' Thomas dismissed him with a nod.

'Do you think I was born yesterday?' Said Bates, lowering his voice despite their secluded location. 'First you now Jimmy, and both after serving the Duke?'

'I don't know what you mean, Mr Bates.'

Mr Bates fixed him with a withering look. 'I suspect you do. I think you need help, Thomas, whether or not you are willing to ask for it. I will speak to Lord Grantham about it tonight.'

'No, please!' Thomas grabbed for Bate's arm as he went to walk away.

_Think of a lie, think of a lie, think of a lie….think of a CONVINCING lie_

'It's true, the Duke did hurt my hand. We quarreled, you know there is an…uncomfortable and delicate history there and you know that I rarely do myself favors when it comes to social interaction of  _any_  kind. I wasn't thinking properly. I was impertinent, and if the Duke had gone to his Lordship about it I would be sunk! I'm not pardoning the Duke's actions, but he could have done worse and didn't. It was just in the heat of the moment and he appologised after. I'll take a bleeding hand over getting fired any day and the Duke has agreed to let it rest so long as I stay away. So please don't say anything to Lord Grantham.'

'And Jimmy?'

'The klutz really did fall down the stairs. And as to my earlier fears…it would appear the Duke has not made any inappropriate overtures.'

Bates looked far from convinced.

'Look, you know I can't afford another scandal. If I need or want help I will ask for it. I promise. There are only two nights left before the rest of the guests arrive anyway. I will keep out of mischief in the meantime, and after that there is no need to worry. If the Duke causes trouble in a house heaving with guests he will be caught and thrown out on his ear. But I am quite convinced based on his behavior over the past few days, excepting my personal experience which was deserved, that he doesn't mean harm to anyone.'

'Thomas, are you quite sure this is how you want to handle it?'

'Yes, I am Mr Bates.' Thomas nodded. 'Will give me your word you won't say anything?'

Bates hesitated, but eventually acquiesced. 'You have my word. But if anything happens…'

'I promise I will report it myself.'


	20. Chapter 20

'Are you  _absolutely sure_  you can manage?'

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas, not bothering to look back over his shoulder as he retrieved the silver platter from the kitchen table. Carson gave a stiff nod and turned to take the wine to the dining room. Truth be told, his wounded hand itched terribly under the white serving glove and the smell of the lavish beef dish turned his stomach...but neither of which presented an insurmountable obstacle to someone of ten years experience ( _Thank you very much_ ). Taking a moment to fix the traditional footmen's look of proud blankness on his face, he ascended the stairs with Alfred following close behind.

The Dowager Countess was in attendance at dinner that evening, and the stunned and slightly uncomfortable silence as Thomas and Alfred entered the room suggested that she was certainly on form.

'Ah, Mr Barrow.' Said Robert, clearly clamoring to reignite the conversation. 'How is the patient?'

Thomas saw Violet sit up in curiosity (never one to stand for being excluded from information).

'The patient?' She said.

Robert smirked a little at having successfully redirected Violet's interest away from the earlier discussion. Thomas had no idea what it had entailed, but Cora, Edith and Mary were looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Thomas moved to the side of the table, Alfred in tow, to begin serving as Robert filled Violet in on Jimmy's accident.

'An unfortunate thing, really. James took a fall down the stairs this morning and hurt himself rather badly. As I understand it, Mr Barrow here was able to treat the injury himself saving Dr Clarkson another visit.'

Thomas judged that this was the moment he was supposed to cut in. 'Yes, Lord Grantham. I was able to put his shoulder joint to rights again. There's no permanent damage, and while he may not be back to top form he will be able to assist during the Christmas rush.'

'So you are a Doctor now too, Mr Barrow?' The Duke's sickeningly pleasant voice rang out from the other side of the table.

'Mr Barrow was a medic during the war.' Said Robert. 'Several of our household served the country on the front lines during those dark years.' He continued with pride.

'I suppose becoming a medic was the smart choice. As I hear it, they generally were kept away from active conflict.' The implication behind the Duke's words (still spoken in a perfectly pleasant tone) was clear.

Thomas's collar suddenly felt far too tight.

'Actually…' Matthew cut in. '…Mr Barrow and I were on the front lines together. And I'm sure you will agree with me Duke that saving casualties under fire is perhaps somewhat more noble than causing casualties in the first place.'

'Quite.' Replied the Duke easily, giving no hint of annoyance, as the family began to eat.

'Actually, Mr Barrow, I have been meaning to thank you for the tea.' Several of the Crawley family looked at Matthew quizzically (Violet by far the most intensely). 'It's a charming story really.' Said Matthew, speaking to those seated around the table but meeting Thomas's eyes with a warm expression. 'While we were in the trenches Mr Barrow was kind enough to host me for evening tea, as you can all imagine both rations and refinement were somewhat absent from the front line so I was very grateful for his kind attentiveness.'

Despite the Duke seated a mere few feet away, Thomas found himself smiling. This earned him strange looks from several of those in the room. He mused later that evening that they had probably never seen him crack a genuine smile before.

'As Robert and Cora shall be in London, I thought I might invite you to visit my house tomorrow afternoon.' Said Violet, addressing the Duke.

The Duke worked quickly to clear his mouth of food to reply, finding the prospect highly unappealing and ready with an excuse, but Violet was faster.

'It was such a shame you were unable to view the architecture on your last visit, Duke. I remember how keen you were to do so.' Her tone would accept no disagreement.

The Duke finally swallowed his food. There was really only one thing for it.

'I should of course be delighted, thank you for your kind invitation.'

With a satisfied smile, Violet continued. 'And perhaps Edith would consent to accompany you. The two of you could perhaps walk into the village and I will send you home later in the car. I hear the woodlands are looking exceptionally fine in the winter frost.'

The Duke's eyes widened, but Edith cut in first.

'Granny, I will be accompanying Papa to London. I thought I told you. I have an important meeting with my editor.'

Violet looked distinctly put out.

'Is this to discuss the column about the war veterans?' Said Tom from across the table, he was genuinely curious, but nethertheless earned himself a thankful look from both Lord Grantham and Matthew for once again steering the conversation away from dangerous territory.

'Yes, there was such a large response to the original article earlier this year that the editor has asked if I could provide a follow up piece. He sent some of the letters on ahead to me, it is truly touching to hear people's sympathy and outrage at their plight.'

'Well this sounds very interesting.' Said the Duke, correctly deducing that a little attention paid to Edith would at least temporarily placate Violet. 'What was the nature of the original article?'

'Oh, it was a piece about how hard it has been for some veterans to secure employment upon returning from the war and about the paucity of provision for those who are unable to secure employment.' Edith's eyes were bright as she replied enthusiastically to the Duke, much to Violet's pleasure. Violet would have been most disappointed to discover that Edith was lighting up at the subject of conversation as opposed to the Duke's attentions.

Thomas felt decidedly sick.

Noble concern for the destitute veterans or not, he highly doubted the sympathy of the family would hold if they knew they were sheltering a black marketer and a male prostitute.


	21. Chapter 21

Alfred was doing a final check of the Duke's bedroom, tidying up after undressing the Duke for sleep, and congratulating himself on not having done anything incorrectly (aside from a brief clumsy moment where his fingers refused to co-operate while undoing his shoelaces) when the Duke startled him by speaking.

'Do you find Mr Barrow a good teacher, Alfred?' Said the Duke from the armchair by the fire, a book loosely clasped in his lap.

'I couldn't really say, your Grace.' Alfred stood to attention as he addressed the Duke. 'He's never really shown me much attention. At least, not as much as James. But Mr Carson has been very good to me.'

'I can see that. You have done very well this evening, Alfred.'

Alfred preened slightly, the inches of height which he concealed with his usual modest posture suddenly appeared with pride. The Duke smiled at him.

'I must say, between you and I, I am very surprised that Mr Barrow is still here after what happened with James.' Said the Duke. He prepared to fabricate some story about an argument between the two men if Alfred proved naïve of the circumstances, but to the Duke's intense pleasure it turned out Alfred was indeed aware.

'His Lordship decided to show kindness.' Said Alfred with a shrug. 'He even had me lie to the police to protect Mr Barrow.'

_My opinion of Lord Grantham may have just improved…_

'Why on earth were  _you_  talking to the police about it?' Said the Duke.

'Well, it were me that caught him. There he was bold as brass kissing James in his sleep.' Alfred gave an involuntary shudder. 'I just….I thought it was my duty to report him properly. God knows what would have happened if I hadn't come back from the pictures when I did.'

_Mmmm I wonder…_

'How come the burden to report it fell to you? Surely James would want Mr Barrow out of the house after an event like that?'

'He did, your Grace. But he was really only threatening to go to the police so that Mr Carson would fire Mr Barrow. I don't think he ever wanted to get the police involved, he's a more tolerant man than I.' Said Alfred.

_No, of course James wouldn't want the police sniffing around…_

'Goodness. There really is never a dull moment here, is there?' Said the Duke with a sympathetic look towards Alfred.

'Will that be all, your Grace?'

The Duke nodded with a very warm smile. With a bow, Alfred left the room.

_So the whore was telling the truth…_

The next morning was, to put it mildly, absolute chaos. The influx of Christmas guests was expected in the late afternoon of the following day, and despite Robert's assurances that they would be returning early the next morning (to allow Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes the chance to sort last-minute problems) there was a seemingly endless list of 'quick queries' that had to be attended to before they could make the 10am train. Finally, Robert, Cora and Edith were ready to go and (with O'Brien and Bates loaded into the second car) they left Downton in the nick of time to catch the train.

Mary, Matthew and Tom watched the cars pull away with trepidation. None of the three relishing the thought of being left to deal with the Duke for the day.

Thomas and Alfred were also out front, having aided in loading the suitcases. Bates had shot Thomas a pointed look before getting into the car, and Thomas had to admit with the security of Robert and Bates removed he suddenly felt somewhat vulnerable.

_It's fine, one night of a practically empty house then it will be crammed full with all the other guests. Besides, last night was perfectly quiet, wasn't it?_

_[And that would make sense, wouldn't it? Why risk raising the alarm before Lord Grantham is out of the house…?]_

'Do you think we ought to draw lots?' Teased Matthew, as he walked back into the house with Mary and Tom. 'One of us will get stuck with walking with him to the village this afternoon, and I think that's the only fair way of doing it.'

'I'm sorry to hear you find the prospect so disagreeable.' Said a voice from above.

The three of them looked up to see the Duke walking down the stairs; he regarded them with a reproachful look.

'Your Grace, I am exceptionally sorry…' Began Matthew, but the Duke cut him off.

'Please, it is understandable. It is my fault for having trespassed on your hospitality for so many days, it is only natural that we should all need a break from each other's pockets.' Said the Duke with a smile. He looked over their heads at Thomas and Alfred who had finished closing up the front doors. 'Perhaps Mr Barrow will consent to accompany me. It would appear you need a trip to the village anyway to replace that flesh-coloured glove…' Said the Duke, addressing Thomas directly, sweeping his eyes over the black-leather glove Thomas was wearing. '…and it's unlikely another chance will come before the guests arrive tomorrow.'

Matthew (cheeks burning in embarrassment) and Thomas (unable to argue against the Duke's logic) could do nothing but nod.

_And the cars are barely out of the driveway..._

_Bollocks._

 


	22. Chapter 22

Precisely nothing happened on the walk into the village.

After lunch, Thomas had led the Duke away from Downton without a word. He deliberately led the Duke down the roadway, expecting him to protest that they should be taking the route through the woods. But the Duke had not commented.

They made a strange pair walking quickly in step down the road. Thomas in his charcoal suit beneath his long black coat, hands shoved in his pockets, and the Duke in his claret coloured finery. Neither offered anything by way of conversation, each merely shooting the occasional glance at the other. The Duke's expression remained easy and amused; Thomas's wary and dark.

The silence was deafening and the tension intense, hanging in the air like their frosted breaths in the biting cold.

When they eventually came to the Dowager's house, Thomas stood awkwardly in front of the Duke awaiting instruction.

'Well, I suppose I should get this over with.' Said the Duke, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at the house. Speaking as easily as to an old friend. 'Run your errands and give it an hour or so. Come to the house when you are finished and tell the butler to fetch me. Mind you don't leave it too long. I suspect I may soon be in dire need of rescuing from Lady Violet.'

Thomas did not return the Duke's smile, and with a curt nod turned and walked away towards the shops.

He left it a good hour and a half before returning. The parcel containing his new gloves (he had taken the precaution of purchasing two) and several items for Mr Carson under his arm, he steeled himself before ringing the doorbell of the Dowager's house.

The butler showed him into the parlor. To Thomas's disappointment the engagement had clearly gone well. Violet looked in good humor, as did the Duke.

'Ah Mr Barrow, were you able to get all you required in the village?' Said the Duke.

'I did, your Grace. Are you ready to return? I can come back later if you wish?' Replied Thomas, remaining in the doorway next to the butler.

'No, I believe we are finished.' The Duke shot the Dowager a charming smile. 'Thank you very much for your hospitality. I look forward very much to seeing you at Downton for Christmas Lady Violet.'

Violet smiled at him, although Thomas was pleased to note that the look was slightly barbed.

'Will you have the car brought around.' She said to the butler.

'Oh no, that is not necessary!' Said the Duke. 'Mr Barrow and I were obliged to take the road way here as we set off rather late from Downton after luncheon. I thought we might take the walk through the woods on the way back. You did make them sound so appealing over dinner last night.'

Thomas clutched the parcel tighter to his side.

'Well, if you are quite sure.' Said Violet.

'Indeed I am. I'm sure Mr Barrow will have no objections.'

Under the gaze of Violet and the Duke, Thomas had no choice. 'That will be fine, your Grace.'

Still, Thomas tried to push his luck by leading the Duke back towards the road as they left the house.

'No, no.' Said the Duke, halting Thomas with a hold on his forearm when he realised. 'She will most likely be watching from the house to make sure I was being truthful.'

Reluctantly, Thomas turned the other way, leading the Duke towards the path at the side of the village.

They made their way slowly along the footpath. They walked past the barren winter fields without a word, Thomas's heart rate rising the entire time. At the point where they were obliged to leave the path and enter the woods to cut through to Downton Thomas led the way with severe nervousness.

The Dowager was certainly correct that the woods were a striking spectacle. The bare tree branches, made black and damp by the season, were laced with glittering crystals of frost. The thick ivy undergrowth was a deep and intense green. Thomas, in growing unease, registered the beauty only in passing. With his head down, he attempted to set a fast walking pace but the Duke kept hanging back, ostensibly to admire the woods, and he was obliged to keep waiting for him to catch up.

The wraithlike frosty mist increased as they walked further into the woods, making Thomas feel as though he were being slowly enveloped.

As they entered a clearing where a circle of felled tree trunks surrounded a carpet of moss-covered ancient stones the Duke called to him.

'Hold a moment. I need to catch my breath.'

Thomas stopped abruptly, glancing briefly up at the heavens to beg them to release him from the situation. He turned back to the Duke who stood staring at him by the side of the clearing. Thomas briefly debated leaving him there, but he strongly suspected he would be unable to justify having lost the Duke in the depths of the woods.

He walked a little way back towards the Duke and leaned against a tree, reading the satisfied expression on the Duke's face with disgust.

'A misty woodland clearing. Really?' He said to the Duke, not bothering to keep the annoyance from his voice. 'You remember that Alec D'Urberville met a sticky end, don't you?'

The Duke laughed heartily. 'Fancy yourself as my Tess of the D'Urbervilles do you? I am sorry to disappoint you, but I have always thought you more of a Becky Sharp. Although I am willing to sacrifice the warmth of my coat if you do wish to pursue that particular fantasy.'

Thomas snorted in disdain.

'Oh relax Thomas. I am not here to fight with you. And do you not think it shows some largeness of character on my part that I am still willing to speak with you after the vicious way you treated me at the Miller's barn the other day?'

'I seem to remember you had the final 'word' in that particular discussion.' Said Thomas bitterly, flexing his injured hand under the parcel he carried.

'You mistreated me and my character, and I replied in kind.' Said the Duke simply.

'And what you did to James…'

'That creature has nothing to do with what is between us. And I'll remind you that you have no right to question how I choose to discipline servants.' The Duke said angrily.

Thomas glared at him.

The Duke sighed. 'He was a terribly cold fish and a mistake and most definitely not worth it for the way you are looking at me right now. Believe me, I would never have gone near him had I known you would care.'

'You mean, had you known I would find out.' Thomas bit back.

'Can you  _please_  relax. And stop attacking me. I am trying to attempt an adult discussion!'

'Ugh!' Thomas turned his head away in exasperation.

'Look….' Said the Duke softly, as though comforting a skittish horse. '…You know both you and I are equally at fault for how things went between us.' He moved slowly towards Thomas. 'You tried to sell out the family you are supposed to serve to help me and I was wrong to dismiss you the way I did, but to threaten to blackmail me…given everything that people like us have to fear, do you not think your own actions deplorable?'

Thomas's breathing becoming increasingly erratic as the Duke approached. He wanted nothing more than to run, but he was paralysed by the tumultuous emotions ripping through his body.

'And do you not see that I was right to do what I did?' Said the Duke, still speaking in a soothing and low voice. 'How could there have been anything true between us if I had become your master? You would have been able to refuse me nothing without fearing for your livelihood and I would be unable to accept you affections freely with that knowledge hanging over me.'

He came to a stop, a little too close to comfort, in front of Thomas. Thomas refused to meet his eyes, staring over his shoulder with an expression of pure anguish as he struggled to get his breathing under control.

'But now…' The Duke reached and took Thomas's free hand in his. 'Do you not see that this could be better? You have years of experience and have obtained a level of career advancement that no one can take away from you. Now you could give yourself freely and I could accept.'

For a while Thomas could find no words. He shivered and bowed his head as a stray tear escaped.

'Just please leave me be.' He said eventually, but the words lacked conviction. His mind suddenly betraying him under the burden of a lifetime of loneliness.

'If you loved me then, why could you not love me now?' Said the Duke, closing the distance between them further. 'Or was it nothing but an act to advance yourself? Am I to look back on your affections as a lie?'

'No lie.' Thomas whispered, shaking his head slightly, drowning but completely without the means to save himself.

'Unfortunate as the reference may be, the comparison to Alec D'Urberville rings true in one way…' Said the Duke. Thomas raised his head, meeting the Duke's gaze with a questioning look. '…no matter what came, Tess was always on his mind and in his heart. And Thomas…you have never left my thoughts for a moment these past eight years.'

Amid a breeze which rustled the icy branches, the Duke leaned in. As his brown eyes searched the depths of Thomas's icy blue, Thomas (suddenly devoid of all rational thought) brought his lips to meet the Duke's.

Their mouths moved lightly against one another.

Thomas released his hold on the package to bring both hands to the Duke's back, drawing him in. Bracing himself against the tree with one hand, the Duke brought the other up to rest softly on Thomas's hair.

The hint of warmth between gently parted lips against the bitter cold of the afternoon heightened the sensations, providing sufficient inducement to lead both to open their mouths wider to savor more of the delicious heat. Pressed against Thomas's body, the Duke snaked his tongue past Thomas's lips and when he withdrew Thomas followed the Duke's tongue with his own.

While it lasted, the kiss was perfect and primal, fulfilling a desperate need.

But when they eventually broke apart, the Duke was unable to shield the hint of amusement in his eyes as he regarded Thomas's disheveled abandon.

Waking as if from a spell, Thomas pushed him away, suddenly loathing himself and the Duke in equal measure.

The Duke tried his best to look hurt, reaching to envelop Thomas in his arms.

'Don't you  _dare_  fucking touch me!' Thomas held up his hands to keep the Duke at a distance, his eyes full of warning.

'Thomas, please…'

'No!' Thomas shouted, turning away to retrieve the parcel. 'Come on, we have to get back.'

He turned and walked away from the clearing, with a brief glance to check the Duke was following.

Behind Thomas's back, the Duke shook his head in frustration as he allowed himself to be led back to Downton.

_So we have to do this the hard way, do we?_

_So be it._


	23. Chapter 23

Darkness had well and truly fallen by the time the Duke and Thomas reached Downton. As they stood at the front door, Thomas had the terrible feeling (given the way his luck was going) that Jimmy would answer the door to both of them (thus increasing the discomfort by an order of magnitude).

_Well wouldn't that be the cherry on top of this marvelous day…_

He was thankful beyond measure when it was Carson who opened the door to admit them.

'Mr Carson, could you please send Alfred up to my room.' Said the Duke brightly as he walked to the staircase.

'Very good, your Grace.' Said Carson with a bow.

'I got the things you asked for Mr Carson. I'll leave them in your office.' Thomas wearily went to walk down the hallway.

'No, Mr Barrow. Give the parcel to me and I'll see to it. Mr Crawley asked to see you on your return. I believe you will find him in the library.'

Thomas frowned. 'Should I change first?'

'He is alone, so that shouldn't be necessary. Mr Crawley did request that you visit him  _immediately_  upon your return.' Said Carson firmly, clearly a little put out that Matthew would request an audience with Thomas and not himself whatever the reason.

'Ok…' Thomas nodded absently. 'Thank you, Mr Carson.'

Upon reaching the library, Thomas knocked softly on the door.

'Come in!'

As Thomas entered, Matthew jumped up abruptly from the sofa when he came into view. For a moment the expression on Matthews face was one of intense relief, but quickly he broke into his usual polite smile.

'How are you Mr Barrow?' Said Matthew, the book he had been reading clutched forgotten in his hand.

Thomas stood awkwardly by the door. 'I'm… Ok, Mr Crawley.' He said, confused.

Concern crept across Matthew's face. 'You're shaking like a leaf!'

'It was very cold outside, Sir.' Said Thomas quickly.

'Well, come and sit.' Matthew indicated the sofa across from his by the fire.

'I shouldn't, Sir. I might mark it.'

_Wouldn't do to leave flecks of bark all over the cream upholstery now, would it?_

'Ok…You're back much later than we expected.' Said Matthew, with a glance out the window at the dark sky.

Thomas mustered a smile from somewhere deep inside his personal reserve. 'Well, the Duke wanted to walk both ways. You know, get the full experience of the landscape and all that.'

'Right.' Matthew said slowly.

Matthew hadn't sat back down onto the sofa, and Thomas was suddenly aware that every muscle in Matthew's body appeared tense. He shifted his body weight onto the other foot and waited nervously for Matthew to speak again.

'How was the Duke today?' Said Matthew eventually.

'He was fine, Sir. I believe the visit to the Dowager went well.'

'I just mean…' Matthew paused. Thomas could practically hear the cogs whirring in Matthew's mind, but to what end he had no idea. 'I just felt that….I felt it was remiss of me to leave you to accompany the Duke into the village. I felt a bit blindsided when the issue was raised this morning, and felt a bit…uneasy about the matter afterwards.'

From across the room, Thomas could feel Matthew's eyes searching his face closely.

_Where on earth has this come from...?_

Thomas did his best to keep his expression neutral. 'There's no reason you should feel bad about that, Sir. I did need to go into the village anyway. I'd just go round making people uncomfortable wearing this…' Thomas brandished the thick leather glove. '…over Christmas.'

'Mr Barrow, I couldn't help but notice that…heated words were being exchanged between the Duke and yourself at the Miller's barn...'

_Oh Shit._

'…Now I don't know what you were discussing, but it seemed like a little more than spilt wine…'

Thomas relaxed a little.

'…and I was just a little concerned that he may have somewhat manipulated things this morning in order to continue the…discussion.' Said Matthew, gesticulating slightly more than appropriate to indicate that he suspected there was more to the situation and trying to give Thomas the impression that it would be safe to enlighten him.

'No, the walk was fine.' Said Thomas.

Matthew stared at him for a long time, Thomas did his best to meet his gaze with what he hoped was an expression of mild misunderstanding.

'Well…If there is anything. You know you can come to me?'

'Of course, Mr Crawley.' Thomas gave a small bow and went to exit the room. He was exceptionally glad when Matthew didn't try to stop him.

Giving a small sniff, Matthew sat back down heavily on the sofa. He set the book down next to him and rested his chin on his hands. He was under no illusions that to get a member of staff to admit to problems with the Duke would be an easy task. His own experiences of being afraid to reproach the Duke for joshing Tom at the Miller's barn, despite being the future Earl of Grantham, was traumatic enough. Still, he had hoped to have been able to extract at least a little from Thomas. Matthew had a horrible feeling that it wasn't just Thomas's working class status that was holding him back, and he had no idea how to go about broaching the potential additional impediments. Or even if, in all honesty, he wanted to.

Staring into the flames of the fire, Matthew shook his head in frustration. He knew with absolute certainty that the day would come when the welfare of the staff was entirely on his shoulders, and at that moment the prospect was suddenly terrifying.

_I don't know how Robert does it…_

Feeling utterly drained, Thomas wanted nothing more than to get an early night and put the events of the day to an end. Unfortunately Carson had other ideas. He called Thomas into his office to inform him that while Jimmy felt able to take his place back during the dinner service, as there would just be five for after dinner drinks (Mrs Crawley having been invited up to Dinner to compensate for the absence of the rest of the family) he expected Thomas to handle them alone while he briefed the rest of the staff on the plans for the influx of guests the following day. He then proceeded to brief Thomas on his own role in the process; an epic list which took the better part of half an hour and left Thomas feeling as though he were about to keel over.

The servant's dinner that evening was a quiet affair, the staff utterly exhausted by the final day of frantic preparation. Thomas found himself quite unable to eat and sat quietly avoiding eye contact. He looked forward to being able to grab a few moments alone while the dinner was in progress to at least attempt to vent his pent up frustrations in peace.

Much to his annoyance, as he made his way out of the servant's hall, Jimmy followed him to accost him in the corridor.

'Mr Barrow, can I have a quick word?'

Jimmy pulled on his arm to lead him a little way away from the others who filed out behind them.

_Oh for fucks sake…_

'Are you alright?' Whispered Jimmy, doing an almost exact impression of the concerned and searching look he had suffered from Matthew earlier in the library.

'I'm fine.' Thomas replied quickly.

'It's just…I heard about you having to take  _him_  to the village…'

'It's fine. Didn't try to murder me or anything. I'm here aren't I…all limbs intact.' Thomas whispered in a distinctly patronising tone. He went to walk past Jimmy to go back to the staircase.

Jimmy moved to block his exit. 'You don't look fine.'

Thomas simply glared back.

'Can we talk later?' Said Jimmy, undeterred, a painfully earnest expression on his face.

'Get out of my way.' Thomas hissed in as threatening a tone as he could muster given the need to speak in low tones.

Jimmy acquiesced, but watched him walk away with concern before he headed to collect the dinner trays from Mrs Patmore.

Later that night, the atmosphere at the after dinner drinks was an awkward mix of polite small talk between Isobel and Mary (seated side by side in the center of the semicircle of chairs round the fire) and complete silence between the Duke and Matthew (who sat either side of Isobel and Mary, glancing at one another with reassuring 'oh the womenfolk' smiles that were nethertheless tinged with hostility). Tom had made his apologies directly after dinner, citing the need to discuss a matter with baby Sybil's nanny, and had thus escaped the excruciating evening.

Thomas could have kissed Isobel when she rose to leave (at a far earlier hour than would usually be appropriate), prompting Matthew to suggest they all 'call it a night'.

Having called for the car, Matthew, Mary and the Duke walked into the hallway to bid Isobel goodnight, with Thomas on hand to open the front door as the driver swept into view. Mary and Matthew walked Isobel to the car to say their final goodbyes. The Duke stayed in the hallway.

_Well isn't that just perfect…_

Thomas was not surprised at all to suddenly find the Duke's hand on his waist in the darkness of the doorway as the Duke stood behind him to whisper in his ear.

'We need to have a talk.'

Thomas kept facing forwards, doing his best not to react, his eyes on Mary and Matthew who seemed to have engaged yet another 'final' conversation with Isobel as she stood at the open car door.

'Fuck off.'

_Oh hurry up you bastards!_

'I need some advice from you about a member of staff. It would appear dear James has something of a colourful past you see, and I need to discuss with you the best way I should break that information to the Crawleys.'

'I don't know what you mean.' Said Thomas, suddenly realising he had tensed up under the Duke's hand, and that the Duke would most certainly have noticed.

'Lord Anstruther is renowned for his taste in…servants.' Said the Duke, his tone of voice making the implications of his words clear on the off chance that Thomas was genuinely unaware. The slight shivers he could feel under his palm were all the confirmation he needed.

'You wouldn't.' Said Thomas.

The car door finally shut and Mary and Matthew stepped back to wave.

'Why wouldn't I?' Whispered the Duke, leaning right into Thomas's ear.

Thomas clung on to the door for support.

As Mary and Matthew turned to make their way back into the house the Duke hissed 'Tonight, after hours.' Before giving Thomas's waist a quick squeeze and backing away to greet Mary and Matthew with a pleasant smile.

The three of them said their goodnights and walked to ascend the staircase, shooting a brief instruction to Thomas that he should let the relevant servants know they had 'gone up'.

After taking a ridiculously long time to lock up the front doors, Thomas returned to the servant's quarters in a completely disconnected daze. He poked his head briefly into the servants hall where Alfred, Molesley and Anna were still waiting (along with a few other night owls with books and card games in progress) to briefly inform them that 'they' had indeed 'gone up'.

He slowly lurched up the stairs towards the staff bedrooms.

He met Mr Carson as he entered the men's corridor.

'Mr Barrow, are you quite alright?' Said Carson.

Thomas knew his facial expression was thunderous, but at that point there was literally  _nothing_  he could do about it.

'I'm fine.'

'Are you quite sure?'

'I'm. Goddamn. Bloody. FINE!' Thomas shouted at him with such intensity that Carson actually backed away a few steps.

With a final glare at Mr Carson, Thomas entered his bedroom and slammed the door closed. He threw himself onto his bed and crammed his knuckles into his mouth to keep from screaming.

Carson took a moment to collect himself. 'We will speak about this in the morning!' Called Carson sternly through the door.

Jimmy lay in his own bed, his eyes wide at the commotion outside.

_'Fine' my arse…_

Jimmy stared at the ceiling listening to the sounds of the other servants eventually making their way back to their bedrooms.

_What the hell happened? He doesn't look physically hurt…what could the Duke have said?_

The corridor quieted down, but Jimmy still couldn't sleep.

After what seemed like an age of tossing and turning, Jimmy got out of bed and re-lit a candle from the fire embers. Crawling back under his bedcovers, Jimmy attempted to read the book he kept sitting on his nightstand.

But, as is the usual way, when one makes up one's mind to focus on something else entirely, suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle begin to force themselves to fall into place.

_Why would he ask for Thomas specifically to walk with him into the village? I thought they had a falling out, I thought they hated each other, I thought they were suspicious of one another._

_[No…You know THOMAS is suspicious of the Duke…you don't know how the Duke feels about Thomas now, do you?]_

_Why was he so angry about the letters? Actually, why did he HAVE the letters?_

_[Why indeed…?]_

_And why DID he dislocate my shoulder? We weren't actually talking about the letters then, were we?_

_[No, you were not, in fact you were talking about…]_

_Thomas…_

Jimmy sat up abruptly.

_Mood or no mood, we are having that talk NOW._

Blowing out the candle he made his way with creeping steps to his bedroom door. The last sounds he had heard in the corridor were a while ago, but still he listened for a moment to be sure.

He tiptoed down the corridor to Thomas's room, listening to hear if there were any signs that Thomas was still awake. All he heard was silence.

Giving a tiny knock, all he could dare at the late hour, Jimmy pushed open the door.

_Oh shit._

The room was empty.

_Oh shit._

Jimmy closed the door slowly as he stepped back into the corridor.

_Maybe he went for a smoke…or a drink in the kitchen…_

_[At this hour? Oh come now. Like you don't know EXACTLY where he bloody is]_

In less than a heartbeat, Jimmy turned on his heel and ran. Cursing the doors that stayed locked at night that impeded his progress he hurtled down the stairs, along the hall, down more stairs, along the corridor. As though running away from the Devil, rather than towards him.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit…._


	24. Chapter 24

Around half an hour before his absence from his own bedroom was noticed, Thomas had found himself standing in the doorway of the Duke's room.

'Drink?' Said the Duke. He reclined leisurely in the armchair by the fire in his red pyjamas and dressing gown as he held up a glass of brandy in Thomas's direction.

Thomas scowled at him, but entered and closed the door. He stomped heavily across the room, practically ripping the glass out of the Duke's grasp (spilling some in the process) and with a single hand maneuvered the desk chair to sit across from the Duke on the other side of the fire.

As earlier that day, had anyone been present to view the spectacle, the appearances of Thomas and the Duke made a strange contrast. The firelight glinted off the Duke's silken clothes and brushed velvet dressing gown, while Thomas's coarse blue striped pyjamas and thick black gown seemed to absorb the light of the room, rendering the appearance of his white face somewhat spectral.

Thomas had debated what to wear, considering for a while whether he should go down to the Duke in his livery (while reproaching himself that  _that_  was what his mind chose to focus on at such a time) but a treacherous little voice in his head counseled him that  _should_  the worse happen ( _Even though it absolutely sodding well wont_ ), as few clothing layers as possible would be preferable to avoid prolonging the process.

He knocked back the contents of the glass in two large gulps, then held it out for the Duke to refill. The Duke sat silently the whole time. He gave Thomas an amused half smile as he returned the re-filled glass. Thomas took it and sank back into his chair. He stared at the Duke, who simply returned his gaze with amusement. Huffing slightly, Thomas turned his eyes towards the fire as he proceeded to empty the second glass.

The Duke's continued silence was maddening.

'If you think you can force me into anything you've got another bloody thing coming. I could easily knock the lights out of a toff like you.' Thomas eventually blurted out.

The Duke gave what could only be described as a low cackle. Deliberately taking his time over replying, he smiled again at Thomas's discomfort.

'You know full well that I have no need of physical violence to achieve my aim. And don't pretend to be ignorant of the situation; your choosing to come to me tonight confirms the depth of your concern for the little blond one.' The Duke leaned forward with an elbow on each knee. Despite the distance still between them, Thomas shrank back slightly in the desk chair. 'No…I don't think you will fight me. You may well think you will, but you won't resist. Whatever strength and fight you think you have in you will drain away the further we go.'

'Do this a lot, do you?' Said Thomas, his words already much stronger than he felt.

The Duke ignored him.

'I do wish you wouldn't make things so hard on yourself Thomas.' He said.

'I haven't done anything. I told you I wanted nothing to do with you. Most people would take that as an order to back off.' Said Thomas, as he set the glass down by the side of the chair.

'No one held a gun to your head in the woods today Thomas…'

Thomas sighed. 'A bloody moment of weakness, that's all. I've just been… lonely for a long time. And even if I did want  _that_  then, it doesn't mean I can't change my mind now does it?' Thomas's voice became stronger again as he fixed the Duke with another glare. 'And I'm telling you now in unequivocal terms I want  _nothing_ to do with you.'

'Like I said, you do insist on making things hard for yourself. Do you not see it would be so much easier if you would come to me tonight as a lover not an enemy?'

'Well I'm sorry to disappoint you.' Said Thomas, his words dripping with sarcasm. 'But forgive me if I choose not to comply with your fantasy that there is still anything between us.'

'Well, damn.' Said the Duke with a pitying shrug. 'Believe me Thomas, it is not nice to hear those words from the only person I thought ever truly cared for me.'

'My heart bleeds for you!' Said Thomas with a sneer.

'I could be kind if you would just let me Thomas.'

'Fuck. You.'

'Fine.' The Duke sat back in his armchair, a distinct edge of malice appearing behind his eyes. 'Straight to business then. One would almost think you had been taking lessons from James.'

Thomas's nostrils flared slightly.

The Duke continued. 'I honestly wasn't sure if you would come tonight just for the sake of that creature. I'm surprised you care enough to do so. But, I must admit, not nearly as surprised as I was to discover you have feelings for him in the first place.'

'I don't…'

'Don't bother Thomas.' The Duke cut in. 'I know the story. You tried to rouse the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss and he was….unimpressed.' The Duke laughed at Thomas's wide eyed surprise. 'If it's any consolation, he wouldn't kiss me either.'

Thomas frowned.

'It's a whore thing, Thomas. If there's two things any good whore likes to avoid where possible its visible signs of disease and emotional attachment.' The Duke offered by way of explanation. 'And that one is a little too well trained, if you ask me.' He said slightly absently, more to himself than Thomas.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

'I also heard that he tried to get you fired.' Said the Duke. 'And this is the part that surprises me about the story. The Thomas I know would have never let a whelp get away with pulling a move like that, much less still be concerned for his welfare.'

'I've grown up a bit lately.' Said Thomas quietly.

'Well, angry as I am that you have found someone else to care for, I have to admit that the revelation has its advantages.' Said the Duke with a feral smile.

'If I were you, I would be none too happy to know that someone thinks more highly of a cold hearted prostitute….'

The Duke's expression darkened, but a final burst of suicidal anger compelled Thomas onwards.

'…And I pity you if you think that I have been pining away for you all these years until James came along, but you shouldn't be surprised to hear that I've met others who have been worth more to me than a hundred of you.'

In four short strides the Duke crossed the hearth.

'Stop making things worse for yourself.' He growled, gripping Thomas's jaw to force eye contact as he loomed over him.

'How could this situation possibly be worse than it already is?'

The Duke smiled slightly, leaning into Thomas's face.

'You wish to buy my silence with regards to James's sordid past and I think you are aware of how I intend to extract payment…' He viciously kissed Thomas, the grip on his jaw keeping him immobilised as Thomas struggled. Pulling back rapidly he ducked lower to speak into Thomas's ear. '…And you ought to know that your attitude is rapidly draining away my concern for your welfare. Given the nature of the activity which will shortly follow, that is a  _very_  bad move on your part. Now, I'm not asking for enthusiasm…just compliance. So tell me…' The Duke tightened his grip on Thomas's jaw. '…do I have your compliance?'

_Of course not you vile putrid bastard!_

'Yes.' Thomas whispered quickly.

Smiling the Duke released Thomas's chin and ran his fingers down the flesh of Thomas's neck, coming to rest on the top button of his night shirt. Bile rose in Thomas's throat, but he stayed absolutely still as the Duke worked first one open then another.

And goddamn it, if the Duke wasn't right about his sudden inability to put up a fight. His arms felt like lead weights by his side.

'Up.' Instructed the Duke brusquely, as he completed undoing the shirt. Thomas rose to his feet as the Duke slid the shirt and dressing gown off his shoulders. His skin crawled as the Duke's hands explored his chest and shoulders.

The Duke pondered how Thomas's skin had most definitely lost its youthful vibrancy, thin blue veins now far more visible beneath his dull white skin than they had been before, but the view was still reasonably pleasant and the feeling still smooth.

Clasping his waist, the Duke stepped backwards, drawing Thomas with him. As he sat back into the arm chair he brought the (at least temporarily) pliant Thomas down to straddle him. Running his hands up Thomas's back, he grasped the back of his head and brought him down for a kiss (smirking slightly at the memory of having James in the same position a few days previous). Thomas allowed himself to be maneuvered, and there was even a hint of response. The Duke smiled smugly against Thomas's mouth and moved his hands back down lower to tug at the waistband of Thomas's trousers.

Thomas abruptly drew back and placed his hands over the Duke's to still their progress, his eyes wide and suddenly fearful. The Duke paused for a moment, Thomas's expression suddenly taking him back to the first night he had ever touched him, the night where amid reassuring words and soft kisses Thomas had finally allowed the Duke to undress him. Blinking back the memory, the Duke raised an eyebrow and regarded Thomas's face reproachfully.

Thomas didn't remove his hands from the Duke's but his grip loosened, allowing the Duke to draw his trousers down to his mid-thigh. He closed his eyes, his breathing shallow and pained, as the Duke traced his hands up his thighs to rest on his naked backside.

It took everything Thomas had to not break down. The fabric of the trousers round his thighs irritated him intensely. He wished he could just stand up and kick them off entirely, the state of partial undress somehow making the situation that much more humiliating and pathetic.

The Duke coaxed his head down for another kiss, a depressingly lingering one.

He then pressed an almost tender kiss to Thomas's temple before instructing him to get on the bed.

Thomas got up off his lap, finally discarding the offending trousers and sat on the side of the bed.

'Lie on it, Thomas. In the middle.' Said the Duke, as simply as though instructing him to shine his shoes.

Thomas did so, staring at the ceiling and feeling utterly numb.

'Now would be the time to make your preparations.' Said the Duke, shrugging off his dressing gown as he stood at the foot of the bed.

Thomas raised himself onto his elbows to look quizzically at the Duke.

The Duke met his gaze, suddenly breaking into a wide smile.

'Oh my word. After all these years….?'

'Don't you dare make fun of me. Not now.' Thomas's voice cracked as he spoke.

'I'm sure you could puzzle it out by yourself… But I suppose a demonstration is in order.'

The Duke moved to join him on the bed, maneuvering to lie on top of Thomas, pushing his legs apart. The weight of the Duke lying over him suddenly making the gravity of the situation all too real, and Thomas finally began to cry. The Duke sighed in exasperation.

The buttons of the Duke's nightshirt dug into Thomas's chest as he leaned in, holding Thomas's head in place with a firm hand as he kissed him.

The Duke pulled away and offered his fingers to Thomas's lips. Thomas turned his head away.

'This is for your benefit as much as mine Thomas.' Warned the Duke. Thomas kept his mouth shut, eyes screwed up as the tears kept falling. With a sigh the Duke gripped Thomas's jaw and levered his mouth open with his thumb. As he slid his fingers into Thomas's mouth he was pleased to note a certain compliance on Thomas's part with regards to moistening them with his tongue.

'You always were a fast learner.'

Smirking, the Duke leaned in to lick a tear off of Thomas's cheek as Thomas continued to attend to his fingers.

Suddenly, both were distracted by the hammering of an open palm on the bedroom door.


	25. Chapter 25

At the sound of banging on the door, the Duke leapt off the bed.

_Goddamnit, forgot to lock the goddamn…._

The door swung open as he made his way across the floor, revealing a very flustered Jimmy.

The Duke halted and stared at him in surprise.

Jimmy's relief to find the Duke still fully clothed was short lived when he looked past him to the bed and saw that Thomas most definitely wasn't. Thomas had sat up as the door opened and for the briefest moment his eyes met Jimmy's before he quickly turned his head away to hide his face, but not before Jimmy had time to register his distress.

Jimmy's stomach gave a violent lurch.

'I thought I made it clear that I no longer required your services.' Said the Duke humorlessly. 'Now if you don't mind, Thomas and I are getting reacquainted.'

'You bastard.'

'Close the door on your way out.' Said the Duke with a distinctly disinterested air.

'I'm not leaving here without him.'

'James...' The Duke sighed. 'Thomas is trying to do you a great service here and I think he'd rather do so without an audience.'

'What?' Said Jimmy.

'Just please leave it.' Said Thomas quietly from the bed, still facing the wall.

'Oh come now, Thomas. If you're to sacrifice yourself for this creature, don't you think he should be aware? I'm sure his gratitude will be…rewarding.' Thomas flinched. The Duke turned back to Jimmy with a sickening smile. 'Thomas is atoning for your sins, you see. He felt it would be remiss of me to enlighten the Crawleys as to your lucrative sideline.'

Jimmy felt like he had just been struck with a ton of bricks. His mouth widened in shock.

'You unimaginable bastard.' He eventually choked out.

The Duke's smile didn't falter. 'Like I said, please close the door on your way out. We are just about to get to the interesting part, you see.'

Jimmy didn't move. His anguished expression slowly giving way to something entirely unreadable.

'So you haven't…yet.'

'What's it to you?' Smirked the Duke.

'I'm going to get Mr Crawley, then I'm phoning the police.' Jimmy said in a low voice.

'Of course you are.' Said the Duke with a laugh.

'I'm going to report that you forced yourself on me and that you just tried to do the same to Thomas. Mr Crawley will back me up once he sees this and you  _know_  I have the medical evidence to make it stick.'

The Duke laughed again. 'A fine threat! You know as well as I do that there is no such thing as an 'innocent party' where buggery is proved in a court of law, you'd only be implicating yourself.'

Jimmy continued undaunted. 'The Crawley's will protect Thomas, and I will have the pleasure of putting you away to years of hard labor.'

The smirk was still evident on the Duke's face. 'You honestly think the Crawleys would be willing to risk themselves to protect you in all this, given what you are?'

Jimmy's expression suddenly became dangerous and deadly. 'I didn't say that, did I? You seem to misunderstand…I will  _gladly_  walk into hell if it means I can take  _you_  with me!'

With that, Jimmy turned and ran.

The smile abruptly dropped from the Duke's face.

'Shit!'

He raced after Jimmy down the corridor.

Thomas sat staring after them, rooted to the spot in shock.

But at the sound of a body crashing to the floor he broke abruptly from his reverie. Sliding off the bed he quickly threw on the Duke's dressing gown as he hurried out of the room.

He caught them up at the landing leading to the first set of family bedrooms, just in time to see the Duke tackle Jimmy to the floor for the second time.

Rising quickly, the Duke aimed a kick into Jimmy's gut earning a shout of pain, but Jimmy was on his feet again in seconds. He slammed the Duke into the wall.

'Stop it, both of you!' Said Thomas in a harsh whisper; a completely pointless whisper as the noise the two men were making could rouse the dead.

Jimmy went to pull away and continue across the landing, but the Duke caught him by his injured arm and sharply tugged him back. Jimmy howled. As the Duke raised his fist to punch Jimmy, Thomas caught his arm and tried to put himself between them.

The Duke shoved him violently back against the railings and fell on Jimmy again. At the punch a thin stream of blood ran down from his mouth, but by sheer force of will Jimmy remained upright as he brought his knee up hard into the Duke's stomach.

The Duke was winded and staggered back a few paces. Thomas moved to stand in front of him and grasped his shoulders. 'For God's sake, that's enough!' The Duke pushed him away again.

He dodged Jimmy's attempted punch and spun him round by his arm to throw him into the wall. Jimmy's head connected with a loud thump and he slumped to the floor stunned. Instantly, the Duke dropped down over him to pin him to the floor.

But as the Duke raised his fist again, Thomas dropped down beside him and grasped his face with both hands. 'Leave him. Just look at me, please. Look at me. We can sort this out, I swear. Please…'

The Duke's face twisted into a visceral rage as he turned to Thomas.

'You…' He hissed, bringing his hands up to Thomas's throat. 'I always knew…' He forced Thomas onto his back, tightening his grip. 'I always KNEW you would be the RUIN of me!'

'Let him go!'

Thomas briefly registered Matthew standing ahead of them as darkness began to creep over his peripheral vision.

'Mind your own business!' Shouted the Duke, shooting him a quick manic glance before turning his attention back to Thomas.

'This is  _my_  house and these are  _my_  staff and you will unhand him this instant!'

The Duke laughed. Crushing Thomas's throat with renewed vigor.

Against the wall, Jimmy began to stir.

'For God's sake!' Shouted Matthew desperately. 'He can't breathe!'

Jimmy was suddenly on his feet again. Throwing his arm around the Duke's neck he grasped his wrist tightly with his other hand to lever him away from Thomas.

Jimmy's injured shoulder screamed in protest, and distracted by the pain Jimmy tugged just a little too hard, a little too fast, and most definitely at the wrong angle.

There was a nauseating creak, and suddenly the Duke was deadweight in his arms.

As Jimmy released his hold the body thudded to the floor.

Eyes wide, mouth open, Jimmy backed away slowly to the wall and slid down to the floor.

For a few moments, the silence was broken only by Thomas's wracking coughs.

Matthew looked in bewilderment at first Jimmy then Thomas, then intently back at the Duke lying between them. His expression shifted into one of cool resolve.

He swung off the cream dressing gown he was wearing over his night clothes and moved to crouch by Thomas.

He held it out to Thomas.

'Thomas, switch.'

'What?' Said Thomas hoarsely.

'Take this off.' Matthew tugged at the sleeve of the Duke's dressing gown. 'And put this on.'

Thomas stared at him in disoriented confusion.

'Now!' Shouted Matthew.

Thomas gingerly sat up to shrug out of the Duke's dressing gown, giving no thought to modesty (the thing was lying completely open anyway) and took Matthew's gown.

'Matthew, what….' Lady Mary suddenly appeared at the side of the landing, staring in equal shock at Thomas's nudity and at the completely motionless Duke lying glassy-eyed on the floor.

'Darling…' Matthew quickly rose and walked over to her, taking her hands in his and bringing them to his lips. 'Darling please go back to the room. I will join you there presently and explain. I swear!'

She gave another wide-eyed glance over his shoulder.

'You…you will explain this?' She said in shock.

'Darling, please.' Matthew kissed her hands again. 'I will be along in a moment.'

She gave a slight nod and turned away.

Matthew turned quickly back to the task in hand. He picked up the Duke's dressing gown and crossed over to where he was lying on the floor.

'Help me!' He said, motioning Jimmy over.

Jimmy stayed where he was. Matthew sighed in frustration and indicated Thomas, who was weakly still struggling to get into the second dressing gown. 'He can't, so you have to!'

Jimmy tentatively moved to Join Matthew beside the Duke. 'Hold him up.' Said Matthew as he began to work the Duke's arm into his gown. Jimmy numbly did as he was told.

When the gown was finally on the Duke, Jimmy sat back on his heels staring at Matthew with fear in his eyes as he awaited further instruction.

'Down the stairs.' Said Matthew.

Jimmy frowned in confusion.

'Help me. Throw him. Down the stairs.' Said Matthew slowly.

Realisation dawned on Jimmy's face, as he looked back at Matthew with an expression that under any other circumstances would be interpreted as pure adoration.

Jimmy scrambled to his feet, taking one arm of the Duke's while Matthew took the other.

With minimal fuss, the Duke came to rest halfway down the stairs.

Matthew grasped Jimmy's arm as he led him back to the landing.

'Now listen carefully. You take Thomas back to the Duke's room. Get his clothes, and remove any evidence that someone else was in the room tonight. Make sure the bed looks slept in…' Here Matthew glanced involuntarily towards Thomas. '…if it doesn't already. And make sure you leave the lights on. Have you got that?'

Jimmy nodded vigorously.

'Good. You both have fifteen minutes to get back to your rooms, make damn sure no one sees you. I will handle the rest.'

Jimmy nodded again.

Matthew released his hold on Jimmy's arm and Jimmy moved to pull a still severely disoriented Thomas to his feet. Holding him up with his good arm, Jimmy went to lead him down the corridor.

'And James.' Called Matthew. 'Believe me, I will be demanding a full account of the circumstances.'

Jimmy turned to look at him over his shoulder. 'Of course Mr Crawley….And, thank you, Mr Crawley.' It seemed a completely redundant sentiment to relay under the circumstances, but Jimmy felt he had to say it nonetheless.

'Just make sure you are back in your rooms in the next fifteen minutes.'

Jimmy nodded.

Taking a few deep breaths, Matthew made his way back to his room.

Mary was sitting up on their bed waiting for him. She crossed the room rapidly and enveloped him in a soft hug.

'Are you alright?'

Matthew nodded as he pulled away to look into her eyes.

'I don't deny that I would rather not tell you what has happened.' He said. 'But I fear I must, because I need to beg a favor from you…'

Precisely fifteen minutes later, Thomas and Jimmy emerged from their rooms, their traumatised and confused expressions blending in well with the rest of the bleary eyed and sleepy servants at the sound of Matthew frantically banging on Carson's door.

A very disgruntled Carson stepped out into the corridor, but he quickly reverted to his usual dignified best when he recognised Matthew.

'Mr Crawley, what on earth brings you here at this hour?'

'Mr Carson…There's been a terrible accident!'


	26. Chapter 26

As the car finally swept down the final approach to Downton, it was Robert who first noticed the unfamiliar collection of vehicles parked at the entrance to the Abbey.

'Oh my word. They can't be arriving already, surely!' He exclaimed to Cora, fishing his watch out of his pocket to confirm that time hadn't somehow massively ran away from them since leaving the train station.

Cora looked out of the car window.

'Robert….!' She suddenly grasped his wrist.

Robert looked up. Following her gaze he saw two men bearing what could only be a white-sheeted body into the back of one of the cars.

'Good God!' A myriad of possibilities flew through his mind, each one less welcome than the last.

Even before the car had drawn to a full stop on the gravel he flung open the door and ran towards the main doors. Alfred stood ready to meet him.

'What's happened?' Said Robert.

'It's the Duke, your Lordship. There was an accident last night.'

Coming up behind him, Cora and Edith gasped at Alfred's words.

Robert couldn't deny a slight sense of relief (although he hated himself for it afterwards) that it was the Duke and not any member of the family or staff, but nethertheless he ran past Alfred into the hallway still in a distinct state of panic.

The second car stopped. O'Brien's expression, the picture of shock, rapidly settled back into more restrained concern when she recognised Alfred at the door.

Bates emerged from the car and strode purposefully over to him.

'Alfred, what's going on?' He demanded.

'The Duke is dead, Mr Bates...'

Bates felt the blood drain out of his face, his conversation with Thomas the day before last suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

'….It was a terrible accident. Mr Crawley is just inside talking to the police now.' Continued Alfred.

Bates frowned slightly. 'Why are the police talking to Mr Crawley?'

'Well, he were with him when it happened. He fell down the stairs in the dark.'

Bates sense of relief was palpable, but mercifully went unnoticed by both Alfred and O'Brien.

As a very blank faced Jimmy and a very distracted looking Thomas emerged from the house to help Alfred with the luggage, O'Brien and Bates entered the hallway.

Three police officers stood at the base of the stairs, their observations of the scene already concluded, as the inspector stood before Matthew and Mary.

Carson, Tom and the newly arrived Crawleys stood anxiously to the side of the hallway.

'I won't deny I was somewhat perturbed when the Duke came to our door last night…' Said Mary to the inspector. '…it seemed such an improper thing to do. But he was a gentleman and did not enter the room, he waited for Matthew in the hallway. And then, a few moments later…when I heard his shout…' She stopped, shaking her head. Matthew wrapped his arm around hers and drew her closer to his side, with a reproachful look at the inspector.

'Thank you, Lady Mary.' Said the inspector, his expression sympathetic at her distress.

'And you say he asked you to take him to the kitchens?' Said the inspector to Matthew.

'Yes, it seems so silly now. He said he was having trouble sleeping and needed a hot drink. The staff were all in bed at that hour, so there would have been no one to hear the bell. And…well, I couldn't very well refuse the request of a guest whatever the inconvenience. So I consented to accompany him. He walked a little ahead of me before I was ready to join him in the corridor and then, as he walked down the stairs, he seemed to miss his footing….' Matthew inhaled sharply. '…and his hand came of the railings and he shouted. I ran over, but he wasn't moving and his head was at such an unnatural angle…'

Across the hallway, Alfred, Jimmy and Thomas had finished piling up the cases at the foot of the stairs. Alfred and Jimmy stood waiting for instructions from Thomas as to who would attend to whose luggage, but Thomas's mind was miles away. His hand still clutching the handle of the last suitcase as he listened to Matthew's words.

'Mr Barrow?' Said Alfred. Thomas slowly looked up in confusion, the task at hand completely forgotten.

His eyes caught Jimmy's. With a brusque move of his eyes, Jimmy indicated the three police officers standing only a few feet away then looked back at Thomas in warning.

'Right, ok.' Thomas snapped back to the present. 'Alfred, you take these ones…'

Matthew continued to address the inspector. '…I knew he must be dead. I went to make sure my wife was alright, as she had come out onto the landing at the shout, then I ran directly to Mr Carson to beg for assistance and then went to wake Mr Branson. Their assessment was the same as mine; that the Duke was past help from a doctor. Then we made the telephone call to the police directly.'

The inspector nodded, as he finished noting down Matthew's words.

'Well Mr Crawley, thank you. I believe we have all we need. I am very sorry for your loss, and for the distress this accident has clearly caused you and your wife. It is especially cruel for something of this nature to have happened during the season of goodwill.'

'Thank you inspector.' Said Matthew quietly with a weak but polite smile.


	27. Chapter 27

In the brief quiet of the late morning Thomas sat on the stone ledge in the yard, his forehead resting on one shaky hand and a cigarette clutched in the other.

 

Lots in his own tumultuous thoughts, he jumped as a hand rested on his shoulder.

 

'I thought I saw you come out here.' Said Jimmy, sitting down next to him.

 

Thomas rolled his shoulder blade to dislodge Jimmy's hand.

 

'Can you not see I want to be alone?' He said softly.

 

'I'm sorry, but we really need to talk.' Said Jimmy, looking intently at the profile of Thomas's face.

 

There was no response.

 

'Thomas…?'

 

Still silence.

 

'Thomas we at least need to agree on what to tell Mr Crawley.' Said Jimmy eventually.

 

Thomas closed his eyes and sniffed, a parody of a smirk crossing his lips as he moved his cigarette to take another drag.

 

'If you're worried I'll incriminate you, then don't be. It's simple isn't it? I had a dalliance with the Duke on his last visit. He tried to start it up again this time and when I refused he hurt my hand. I confided in you then you confronted him and he hurt your arm. Then he blackmailed me into…visiting him last night and you just so happened to notice I was missing from my room and realised where I was.' Thomas flicked the ash from his cigarette with gusto, still staring ahead into the yard away from Jimmy. 'See? It's that easy.'

 

'It's not…I mean, thank you for that. But…'

 

'What?' Thomas snapped at him.

 

'Thomas, nothing about this is easy.'

 

'I don't know what you mean.' He said bitterly. 'I think it's fair to say you solved the problem in a very final way.'

 

'Thomas you know I didn't mean to…' Said Jimmy.

 

'I know, I know, believe me I know you didn't mean to. But you did. And I'd say that means our business is concluded.' He brought the cigarette to his lips a final time before flicking it across the yard. 'And I would be insanely grateful if you would go back to ignoring me as you did before and we can forget this entire bloody mess ever happened.'

 

'How can you say that?' Said Jimmy, Thomas registered the slight catch in his voice but still didn't turn towards him. 'You can't just dismiss me like that after what's happened. Last night changes things between us.'

 

Thomas dropped his head back into his hands, raking his fingers through his hair. 'Just bloody leave it.'

 

'Thomas, last night I found that I was willing to put myself into prison to protect you, to put myself behind bars, to ruin my life when I've worked so hard to be where I am today…and…and I plainly saw the lengths you were prepared to go to for me…Do you not realise what all that's done to my head? Do you not care?'

 

Thomas stood up abruptly. He took a few paces away before turning to meet Jimmy's eyes.

 

'No, Jimmy. At this moment, I don't care. I can't. I'm exhausted. I've been hanging on by a _thread_ these past months because of what you tried to do to me, and I kept defending you the whole damn time. Thinking that I'm this monster for trying to corrupt you, and _you_ let me think it. All the while knowing that you've done far worse than I ever will. I've tried to show you nothing but kindness, I tried to warn you about the Duke…You happily showed your true colours to me then, didn't you? You bloody ripped me apart. And then I end up naked in the bed of a man I hate, still trying to protect you and then…what you said to the Duke, I don't know where the hell that came from and right now I don't care…I just…I don't have the energy to give a damn. I don't _want_ to deal with this now. Congratulations if you have suddenly had the epiphany that men like me don't deserve to be treated like shit, but right now _I don't care_.' Thomas was shocked at his own histrionics, the words practically forcing themselves out of his lips.

 

Jimmy stared back at him, his face creasing into an expression more appropriate for a scolded child than a grown man. 'Thomas, please….'

 

'Not now.'

 

Thomas turned and stalked back across the yard and into the house, leaving Jimmy sitting alone. He did pause for a second at the door at the sound of Jimmy beginning to sob behind him, but he literally had nothing left to give.

 

Steeling his face into a fitting expression for public scrutiny, he entered the servant's hall.

 

Upstairs, Carson brought the tea into the drawing room where the family sat assembled. The mood was silent and somber as the cups of tea were passed around.

 

'My Lord.' Carson addressed Robert. 'I wondered if there are any changes you would like to make to today's arrangements in light of…recent events.'

 

Robert sighed deeply. 'Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say we are not relishing the prospect of entertaining this evening. However, it is far too late to cancel. Most of them will already be on their way. I thought perhaps a moments silence over dinner would be appropriate.'

 

'Very good, my Lord. I will instruct the staff that we are to proceed as usual.'

 

'Just one thing, if you could instruct Alfred to pack up the Duke's belongings before this afternoon and have the maids give the room a good going over, I would like to move the Hartfords into that room. It is after all one of the larger guest bedrooms, and the Blue Room is a terribly long walk from the stairs for someone in Lord Hartford's condition and its set so far away from the other guest rooms. You don't think that would be in poor taste, do you Mr Carson?'

 

'Not at all. I will see to it, My Lord.' Said Carson. 'Although, perhaps we won't mention the circumstances to the Hartfords.'

 

Robert gave a wry smile. 'Quite.'

 

At precisely three o'clock in the afternoon the first car pulled into the driveway. The arrivals had been carefully staggered, so aside from Alfred and Jimmy (who were obliged to freeze their knuckles off opening car doors and fetching bags) the rest of the staff were arranged in formation along the hallway, with the family at the far end ready to greet their guests.

'Herbert, Lilly, it is such a pleasure to welcome you to Downton!' Beamed Cora as the Petersons entered the hallway. 'And my, this can't be little Helen! So grown up!' The families took a moment to all exchange smiles and light handshakes, the Peterson's Valet and Lady's Maid hovered slightly awkwardly in the doorway.

 

'If you would care to follow me your Lordship.' Said Carson to Herbert. 'I will lead you to your rooms.' Alfred plodded after them up the stairs, performing his familiar feat of carrying a suitcase under each arm and in each hand, cursing the two hat-boxes that would oblige him to make an extra trip. Anna led the staff away to the servant's quarters in the attic.

 

The next guests to arrive were the Grenton brothers, who arrived a little after the 'suggested' half past three arrival time. This was probably a good thing, as it meant Carson had made it back to the hallway in time to be outraged that each of them had brought their personal Valets despite having initially requested to be attended to by Downton staff.

 

He glared after them as they entered, but at a sympathetic look tinged with a hint of warning from Robert he consented to keep his grumbles to himself. Making a quick assessment that both Thomas and Molesley had far more personal items than Alfred and Jimmy (and with Alfred expected back in the hallway at any moment) he quickly settled on a solution.

As Thomas led the brothers up to their rooms, Jimmy following with the luggage, Alfred made his way back into the hallway. Carson pulled him aside (in what he hoped was a subtle manner) to whisper that they needed an additional room in the servants quarters and could he please move his personal effects into Mr Molesley's room and to tell Anna to make up both beds in his room with fresh linen. Sending Molesley up to help him find a place for things in his room (and with strict instructions to be quick about it) he counseled Gill to entertain the two new Valets in the servant's hall until the room was ready.

 

Carson preened happily at a crisis averted as Alfred, Molesley and Anna made it back in time for the four o'clock arrival of Lord and Lady Hartford (Lord Hartford hobbling slowly on his cane). But his relief was short lived when, along with the expected Lady's Maid Hetty, yet another unexpected Valet made his way into the hall. Carson's eyes widened as he walked past, his chest puffing out slightly in agitation. He silently gave thanks that he hadn't moved Alfred in with Jimmy, he doubted the ridiculous volume of items accumulated by Molesley during his years of working in Lady Isobel's household could be moved comfortably in a week let alone half an hour and Thomas was needed to greet the guests. Abruptly his mood fell again when he realised the implications of what he now had to do.

 

As Thomas and Jimmy reappeared in the hallway he instructed Thomas to show the Hartfords to their room as Alfred appeared in the doorway with the luggage.

 

He called Jimmy over as he headed to go back to the driveway, again hoping that he was being subtle about the problems in front of the guest staff and assembled Crawley family.

 

'We need an extra room in the servant's quarters. You need to move your things into Mr Barrow's room.' Carson braced himself for the inevitable protest, having put Alfred with Molesley not Thomas for precisely that reason.

 

Jimmy's eyes widened. 'Can't I share with Alfred?'

 

'We have already had to move Alfred.' Said Carson abruptly, shooting a reassuring glance over to the waiting guest staff.

 

'Can't the new man just share with me?' Said Jimmy desperately.

 

Carson's chest puffed out again. 'I understand your reservations but your 'disagreement' with Mr Barrow was settled months ago, and I will not have aspersions cast on the hospitality of this household because of your personal vendetta.' He cautioned.

 

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy tersely.

 

'You should meet Gill on the way up, when you find her tell her to make up one of the beds in your room and get her to help you move your things. Just pile it up in a corner and come to an arrangement about storage with Mr Barrow later this evening.'

 

Having sent Anna to entertain the Hartford's staff until the room for the Valet was prepared, Carson once again took his position in the formation of staff along the hallway, feeling distinctly flustered and silently swearing an oath that should any additional unexpected staff arrive they could sleep in the yard.

 

Thankfully, Lady Rosamund's arrival with her Lady's Maid passed without incident as did the arrival of Lord Greenwood and his son Wilfred (with the two other _expected_ Valets).

 


	28. Chapter 28

Having settled the Greenwoods into their rooms, Thomas hurried back towards the servant's hall to double check with Carson if there were any guests who required additional attention prior to the pre-dinner drinks. But just before he made it to the back staircase he heard his name called.

Thomas turned to see Matthew approaching at a light jog behind him.

'I'm glad I caught you!' Said Matthew, in a voice as easy and polite as though he were talking to the guests. Thomas absently wondered if he was worried about being overheard. 'I was wondering if I could trouble you for that 'book' I leant you?...'

_Definitely worried about being overheard…_

'….It's just that we aren't likely to get many chances over the next couple of days, what with the Christmas celebrations.' Matthew continued. The look in his eyes was entirely off kilter with the perfectly pleasant tone of his voice, a strange mix of sympathy and sadness. It turned Thomas's stomach slightly, never one who liked people knowing (or  _thinking_  they knew) his private business at the best of times.

_Christ, this is humiliating._

Thomas paused for a second to ponder his utter inability to ask for (or accept) help…even  _after_  it had been given.

'Mr Barrow…?'

'Sorry, yes. Of course Mr Crawley. Should I bring it to your room?'

'No, I'll come up and collect it.'

They made their way silently up the back staircase. As they neared the servant's corridor they met with two unfamiliar men in black suits and ties. The men clearly recognised Matthew from the earlier welcome committee and gave confused half-bows as they passed.

Thomas was surprised to note that his door was standing ajar, and further surprised to find Jimmy standing amid piles of unfamiliar items at the side of his room.

'What's this?' He demanded, Matthew temporarily forgotten.

Jimmy looked up with a scowl. 'Mr Carson's orders.' He replied bluntly, before turning his attention back to the messy heap of shirts he was working through folding on the spare bed.

'Why didn't he put you in with….' Thomas looked over his shoulder in time to see another two unfamiliar men in Valet uniforms emerge from Alfred's room, at a run just like the others.

_Oh. Bloody. Perfect._

Jimmy looked up again, his pride forcing his scowl to deepen to make it clear he was equally unhappy with the arrangements. He gestured towards the wardrobe.

'I need some space for my…' Abruptly he stopped when Matthew came into view. 'Mr Crawley!' He said, suddenly looking like a fox caught in a set of car headlights.

'Oh dear..' Said Matthew, regarding the disorganised mess Jimmy had made of the side of the room. 'I did wonder if the unexpected staff were going to cause a problem. Poor Mr Carson looked as though he was going to spontaneously combust when the third one walked in!' Matthew gave a laugh which neither Jimmy nor Thomas returned.

'Yes, well…' Matthew gave a slight cough. His expression fell into one decidedly more serious. 'James, would you mind giving Mr Barrow and I a moment?'

Slightly out of Matthew's line of sight, Thomas closed his eyes and rolled his head back.

Jimmy's eyes darted nervously between Thomas and Matthew.

'Of course, Mr Crawley.'

He walked slowly between them and out into the corridor, closing the door somewhat gingerly behind him.

'Right.' Said Thomas quickly, moving to the chest of drawers to fish out the carefully folded dressing gown Matthew had lent him.

'Here it is.' He held out the bundle to Matthew. Matthew took it but, to Thomas's disappointment (though not surprise), he made no move to leave.

'Thank you.' Said Matthew, setting it down next to him as he sat on the spare bed amid Jimmy's disorganised clothes.

Thomas stayed standing, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

'Mr Barrow….Thomas, I'm not really sure how to begin…'

_Please, please, stop looking at me like that._

Thomas cut in abruptly. 'I just want to say thank you, Mr Crawley, for what you did for James and me. I'm very sorry that you had to take any part of it.'

Matthew nodded slightly. 'I must confess I'm not entirely sure what 'it' was exactly…' Thomas compelled himself to suddenly find the frost gathering at the base of the skylight window utterly fascinating, anything to avoid meeting Matthew's sorrowful gaze. '…but I believe I am correct in believing that the situation was not of your own making.'

'That is correct Mr Crawley.'

'I do not wish to cause you additional distress, but I'm sure you appreciate that I must have an explanation. But first…' Now it was Matthew's turn to shift uncomfortably, his fingers nervously trailing over the braiding on his dressing gown. '…it occurred to me that I should have asked you…well…if you need a doctor.'

_Christ almighty._

'No, Mr Crawley.' Thomas forced himself to meet Matthew's questioning gaze. He bowed his head slightly, feeling his face become uncomfortably hot. 'We hadn't gotten to  _that_ …James interrupted.'

Matthew nodded again, his lips quirking into a small smile. 'Well that's something, at least.' He offered. 'But I'm sorry that it would appear my assessment of the particulars was correct.'

_God please get me out of this._

'Can you please explain how the situation came about?' Said Matthew gently.

Casting his eyes heavenwards with a deep breath Thomas proceeded to relay a heavily abridged version of events, reducing his 'summer dalliance' to that single night the Duke had spent at Downton and leaving Jimmy entirely out of the equation except as a valiant well-wisher. The fact that he had to lie, even in front of the man who had just shielded himself and Jimmy from a criminal indecency and murder trial, weighed heavily on his chest. And even with the most damning details removed, there was still a part of the story that (albeit temporarily) wiped the sympathetic look off of Matthew's face.

'Are you telling me that Crowborough attempted relations with you when he came here to court Lady Mary?'

'I'm sorry to say so, but yes.'

'And you didn't speak out then?'

'How could I?' Thomas stuttered slightly.

'You would have let Lady Mary enter a marriage based on falsehoods with a man like that to protect your own self interest?' Said Matthew in indignation.

_What's one more lie?_

'If it had gone ahead…I think I would have had to say something, Mr Crawley. But as it was, he left after that one night. His Lordship made it clear to him that Lady Mary wouldn't inherit, and it was only then that he came to me and I…I was naïve and stupid. And he was…a Duke.' Thomas finished lamely, but it was clear his words had struck the right tone. Matthew's expression softened again.

'I understand.'

Thomas was momentarily distracted at the wave of remorse that suddenly washed over him as he unwillingly contemplated his callous disregard for Lady Mary's wellbeing in the face of his own interests. A theme that, if he was perfectly honest, had occurred more than once during his time at Downton.

_How could anyone be that self centered and cold hearted?_

_['How can you still hold your head up?']_

_['You have a position as footman in one of the finest houses in the country. Are you not satisfied?']_

_Well, shit_

'But I've changed!' Thomas muttered to himself to dispel the unwelcome memory of his own reproachful words to Jimmy, accidently speaking loud enough for Matthew to notice.

'Sorry, I didn't catch that.' Said Matthew.

'Nothing, Mr Crawley. Just, thank you. Again.'

Outside Jimmy stood nervously propped up against the wall by Thomas's door. The constant stream of staff (familiar and otherwise) bustling back and forth, shooting him questioning looks as they went, had made him contemplate more than once the prospect of going to hide in the kitchens until Matthew left.

Despite his trepidation at facing Matthew, it was something of a relief when the door finally opened.

'James, please come in.' Said Matthew, motioning him inside.

Matthew's expression was pleasant, but it didn't dispel the obscene mantra ( _Fuck Fuck Fuck FUCK…_ ) screaming inside his head.

'Mr Barrow has explained the situation to me, James. And I would like to take a moment to thank you personally for your actions. Obviously, the outcome is highly regrettable, but nethertheless I commend you for coming to Mr Barrow's aid under very…difficult circumstances. There are not many who would be brave enough to intervene in the will of a Duke.' Said Matthew.

Jimmy was vaguely aware he should thank Matthew again for covering up the catastrophic outcome of his momentary lapse in muscular coordination, but found he could do nothing but nod wordlessly.

Matthew seemed satisfied.

'One final thing…' Matthew addressed both Thomas and Jimmy. 'I do appreciate the delicacy of the situation you both found yourself in, but I hope you realise that you should have spoken out sooner. Your silence was what caused this situation to escalate…'

Thomas and Jimmy both nodded and did their best to look ashamed, both thinking ruefully how different Matthew's perspective would likely be if the Duke was still breathing to tell  _his_ side of the story.

'…Heaven forbid anything like this should arise again, but I want a promise that you will bring matters of this nature to my attention in the future. Or any matters concerning your welfare, for that matter.'

'Yes, Mr Crawley.' The both said in unison.

'Right, that's that then.' Matthew said, feeling a huge weight lifting off his shoulders. 'As you know, Lady Mary is aware of the situation, but this will go no further.' He gave a slight nod towards them. 'I consider the matter to be at an end.'

'Thank you, Mr Crawley.' They bowed as Matthew left the room.

Thomas and Jimmy stood side by side to attention for a good minute or so in silence after Matthew had gone.

Finally, Thomas broke away to sit on his bed, dropping his head into his hands. Jimmy stayed where he was a moment longer, watching him, before turning his attention back to sorting his clothes.

They stayed in silence until the time they were obliged to rejoin the other staff to assist with the pre-dinner drinks.


	29. Chapter 29

For obvious reasons Jimmy found Robert's announcement of the Duke's demise at the pre-dinner drinks uncomfortable, and the minutes silence over dinner utterly excruciating. This would have been bad enough had he been in a good mood, but an hours thick silence in the same room as Thomas had kindled a nasty frustration. A powerful anger at the whole charade of entertaining the guests bubbled constantly throughout the dinner below his carefully fixed demeanor. Everything annoyed him. The clothes were too garish and in the case of the young Helen Peterson blatantly attention, or should that be  _husband_ , grabbing. The smell and look of the rich food was too much given that the servant's dinner had been moved to coincide with the post-dinner drinks and he would most likely have to content himself with a cold snack when they finally released him from the drink's tray. The small talk was particularly painful, and he knew that Mr Carson had happened to glance at him while his eyes were making an involuntary journey up to the ceiling on more than one occasion, so he most likely had a bollocking to look forward to later.

But Thomas, who was obliged to help given the volume and prestige of the guests, was by far the most irritating component of the evening. It maddened him that Thomas's appearance gave absolutely no clue that  _anything_  was wrong whatsoever, while his own festering discomfort and anger had him fighting back the urge to fling the tray he was carrying against the wall. And if Mr Carson's expression was anything to go by, his mood hadn't gone unnoticed.

As he predicted, by the time he was released from the post-dinner drinks service along with Carson, Thomas and Alfred, the servant's dinner had long since passed. Mrs Patmore was still bustling about in the kitchen as they returned (working flat out with Daisy and Ivy to prepare as much of the Christmas meals as possible ahead of time) as Mrs Hughes hovered by the doorway, apparently trying to compel Mrs Patmore to admit defeat and turn in for the night.

As she spotted them outside in the corridor Ivy called to them. 'We kept the stew left from dinner if you'd like me to make you up a plate.' She was clearly directing her words at Jimmy, but it was Alfred who accepted. Thomas stated that he wasn't hungry and announced he was going up to bed.

Despite his gnawing hunger, the thought of food was suddenly completely unappealing to Jimmy. But as the prospect of following Thomas up the stairs was also undesirable as hell at that particular moment, he hunted for another means to kill some time. A glance into the servant's hall confirmed the presence of five unfamiliar faces (Lady's Maid Hetty making decidedly unladylike remarks at the center of a crowd of enraptured Valets) along with the usual suspects. He knew that they were about to be 'sent up' to go and deal with the various guests (some had clearly already gone), but tolerating their presence for even a short space of time seemed an impossible demand to make of his rapidly fraying temper. And, of course, there was still….

'James, a word.' Said Carson gruffly, indicating his office.

Carson closed the door behind him.

'Would you care to explain the highly unprofessional display you put on at dinner this evening?' Said Carson, sitting down heavily in his desk chair.

Jimmy bit his lip and tried to conjure up an expression of remorse.

'I'm sorry Mr Carson. It's just that my shoulder is still giving me grief and that dinner seemed to drag terribly.'

Carson bristled at the explanation.

'Your personal discomfort is no reason to humiliate the Crawley family.' He said sharply.

_That's a bit steep. None of them even bloody noticed!_

'I'm sorry Mr Carson, it won't happen again.'

It was the right response.

'See that it doesn't.' Carson dismissed him.

As Jimmy left the office he briefly reconsidered the idea of the servant's hall, but at a peal of bawdy laughter emanating from the room dismissed the idea. He debated the prospect of walking outside, but decided the risk of getting locked out (given that Carson was already in a mood with him) was too great given the late hour.

They say that you never appreciate what you have until it's gone, and at that moment Jimmy would have given his right arm in exchange for regaining the sanctuary of his own bedroom.

With a heavy heart, he slowly climbed up to the attic, the monotony of the staircase draining his anger away as he went.

At the sight of Thomas already in bed, apparently sleeping, the anger boiled back up.

He didn't know precisely what he was hoping for in light of recent events, but to be dismissed and ignored certainly wasn't acceptable.

_[Hang on there, you didn't want to be anywhere near him a moment ago…]_

_We just really really need to talk!_

The urge to shake Thomas awake was strong, but in the end he contented himself with making as much noise as humanly possible while getting ready for bed. Thomas didn't stir the whole time.

_Blatantly faking it then…_

Jimmy threw himself into bed, tossing in agitation at the feeling of the unfamiliar mattress. That, on top of everything else that had conspired to offend him in the last few hours, had him staring at the dark ceiling wide eyed and awake for a long time.

_I just want to bloody talk, how is that too much to ask?_

_[Just talk…?]_

Sighing in exasperation, Jimmy pulled the bedcovers up around his chin. Determined to get something resembling rest he eventually settled on his side. In the dim light he registered that the clock hands on the mantelpiece were still slightly shy of midnight before finally drifting off into sleep, and into one of the worst nightmares of his life.

_He was transported back to the Duke's bed, lying stripped from the waist down as the Duke slowly crawled up to join him. 'I don't mind, when the inducement is so appealing…' Said the Duke, sliding Jimmy's legs apart and dipping his head to kiss the inside of his thigh. 'No.' Jimmy heard himself say. 'Don't do that.'_

_The Duke's hand suddenly tightened into a claw like grip on his leg as he continued to run his lips over Jimmy's skin. 'I said don't do that!' Said Jimmy, finding himself unable to sit up…or move in any way, for that matter. With a laugh the Duke bit down heavily. Jimmy shouted as he felt his skin give way between the Duke's teeth. The Duke repositioned his head slightly to bite again, teasing off another chunk of skin. 'Stop. Please, stop.' Cried Jimmy. The Duke slowly licked up the length of his inner thigh._

_The Duke was laughing heartily when he eventually raised his head into Jimmy's view. His face was pallid, his mouth dripping with blood that ran down to his chin, and his eyes….Jimmy gasped in shock at the glassy and milky eyes. Dead eyes. The Duke's laugh deepened at Jimmy's horrified expression._

_In a preternaturally fast movement, the Duke's head suddenly snapped to one side. Jimmy screamed. 'Something wrong, my dearest?' Drawled the Duke, his laugh becoming manic at his own joke. 'Get off me please!' Shouted Jimmy, trying with all his might to move as the Duke lowered his head, fixed at an unnatural angle on his kinked neck, slowly towards his face._

_The Duke covered his body with his own, laying heavily on top of Jimmy. 'No, no. Please!' At some point Jimmy's shirt and waistcoat had vanished. He felt every inch of the Dukes cold and clammy skin pressed up against him. Droplets of blood fell off the Duke's chin onto his own lips._

_'How about a kiss, my lovely?' Grinned the Duke, his lifeless eyes open impossibly wide._

_Prevented from even screaming, Jimmy felt the Dukes slimy and bloody lips sliding over his own._

Jimmy's eyes flew open as he came back to reality silently (awakening from bad dreams  _without_ screaming being a skill carefully honed over the past few years out of necessity) with ragged breaths.

For a second he almost  _did_  scream aloud at the figure standing across the room, thinking for a second that the Duke had followed him from his dream.

As the figure breathed out a stream of smoke into the open skylight window, Jimmy's body relaxed a little as he recognised Thomas's form.


	30. Chapter 30

Thomas gave no sign that he had noticed Jimmy waking. He continued to stare out of the open skylight window, alternating between frosted breaths and cigarette smoke, apparently impervious to the cold on his bare arms.

Jimmy sat up, the bedsprings creaking as he did so. Thomas made no move to acknowledge him.

Jimmy stared at him for a while before speaking.

'Can't sleep?' Said Jimmy.

'With the racket you make, no I can't.' Thomas said levelly. 'You've sounded like you've been losing a fight to your mattress for the last hour.'

Jimmy felt his cheeks grow red and was thankful for the dim light. 'Well you've got the window open and its bloody freezing. So I suppose we are both shit roommates.' He replied.

Silence descended again. Thomas continued to smoke by the open window, making a point of drawing on the cigarette past the point where he would usually discard it, sincerely hoping that Jimmy would turn over and go back to sleep.

'I was having a dream…about  _him_.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas screwed his eyes shut in frustration.

_Can't you take a bloody hint?_

'It was a bad dream. He was dead but still…moving around.' Continued Jimmy.

'And what do you expect me to do about it?' Sighed Thomas, finally forced to concede that the cigarette was at its end. He stubbed it out in the saucer by the windowsill and closed the skylight before walking to tip the cigarette butt and ash into the fireplace.

'Nothing, I suppose.' Said Jimmy in a small voice.

Thomas risked a quick glance over to him and instantly regretted it. Hunched over on the bed he looked so tiny and miserable. Thomas felt a stirring of the old affection and protectiveness he once had towards the golden and innocent boy he had admired, who he so wanted to believe could love him back.

_[The one that only exists in your head.]_

_[DON'T be fooled.]_

Still, he couldn't suppress his humanity entirely. Some invisible force held him back from simply turning away and climbing into bed to end the encounter.

Sitting down on the rug in front of the glowing fire embers he unconsciously mimicked Jimmy's posture on the bed, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his bent knees.

'I am sorry for what you went through last night for me.' Said Thomas quietly to the fireplace. 'And I am grateful you came to help me when you did.'

He registered the sound of Jimmy stirring slightly on the bed, clearly surprised that Thomas had deigned to finally address the matter.

'I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner.' Said Jimmy. 'That I was too late to stop…' He couldn't think of how to continue, recalling the sick feeling in his gut when he had recognised Thomas on the bed. Shaking his head slightly he asked the question that had been weighing heavily on his mind, while internally berating himself on his inability to leave well enough alone. 'Had anything happened before last night?'

'No.' Thomas replied slowly. 'At least, nothing against my will.'

'What?' Jimmy sat up abruptly.

Thomas gave a shrug, staring into the embers. 'We kissed while I was walking him through the woods…I just forgot myself for a moment.'

'What is it with you and him and bloody kissing?' Jimmy sniffed in disapproval, his voice suddenly growing stronger. Thomas was sure if he turned to look at him that Jimmy would now resemble more of a petulant child than a lost and innocent one.

_Doesn't take much to make your mask slip, does it…?_

'A kiss is a means by which human beings can convey affection, respect, love…' Thomas spoke in a patronising voice as though reeling off a dictionary definition.

'I know what kissing is sodding for.' Jimmy cut in. ( _Definitely back in defensive 'petulant child' mode now, aren't we?_ ) 'I just fail to see its validity in this particular situation.' He said bitterly, his aggravation clearly rising.

Thomas smiled ruefully.

'Oh right, sorry! I forgot that 'men can't love men'. Don't know where my mind is these days!...' He replied, as though Jimmy had just corrected him about no greater matter than the day of the week.

'You're so bloody naïve.' He added angrily, muttering, but deliberately loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

Jimmy jumped to his feet. 'I'm bloody well not!' He hissed in indignation, nostrils flaring as he stood across the room from Thomas's perch by the fireplace. His posture and eyes were full of warning.

Thomas slowly turned to look at him, smirking in amusement. His face conveying the unmistakable message that Jimmy's display was not in the least bit threatening.

'Well I think that concludes our talk.' He said sarcastically, leaning over onto one arm and levering himself up off the floor.

'You can only believe in love between men because you've never  _had_  it!' Jimmy suddenly blurted out, desperate to keep Thomas talking (amid a strong suspicion that there wouldn't be a 'next time' if he allowed Thomas to shut him out again).

_[And why should that bother you? Hmmm…?]_

His outburst certainly did the trick.

He immediately had Thomas's full, undivided and absolutely livid attention.

'Don't you DARE presume to tell me what I've felt!'

As Thomas advanced a few steps towards him, Jimmy found himself backing off slightly.

Steeling himself, Jimmy continued. 'I don't mean feelings. I mean actually living it.'

'Well I do concede that love may lose some of its magic when shared out amid half the population of Manchester. ..' Said Thomas in a cruel voice, still advancing.

'No…' Jimmy's voice broke. 'I don't mean  _that_. I don't mean….'

'I am getting very very tired of this Jimmy.'

'I mean really living it. Living  _with_  someone, someone that you love…someone that you think loves you.' Said Jimmy desperately, his face crumpling.

Thomas stopped in his tracks.

_What…?_

Jimmy sank back to sit on his bed, shivering in an entirely unsuccessful attempt to regain composure.

Thomas stared down at him.

'After the war, you know I had nothing.' Said Jimmy. 'And, my Captain…he had always looked after me. I didn't have anyone to turn to so…..I went to him and he took me in.' Jimmy's body was suddenly wracked by an anguished sob. He momentarily gave over to it, taking measured breaths before continuing. 'It was small things at first, compliments, lingering touches and glances…'

Thomas began to feel decidedly nauseous.

_Oh hell_

'…I didn't really know anything about what people, men or women, could do together. I didn't really know what was happening at first, but I knew he made me happy. Very happy. Every hour of the day we were together, ate together, walked together, and …we began to sleep together. I enjoyed being with him…being with him in every sense of the word. And I grew to love him so much it  _hurt_.' Jimmy's voice cracked at the last word. It was a long time before he continued.

_Well THAT wasn't what I was expecting..._

'Then, he began to get distant. I thought perhaps he was worried that the villagers had started to realise. I knew the staff didn't care, it was such a small household and they barely batted an eyelid at me being there…I should have realised at the time that I was just one in a long line of…Anyway, I tried to be more discrete in public. In private, I gave everything I could. But…it wasn't enough because…because I'd already given him what he wanted. And one day, he told me to leave. Just like that. I begged to be allowed to stay but…' Jimmy paused again.

Jimmy sniffed, composure gradually returning as he continued. 'So I left. And I knew that there must be others like him who would…But I couldn't bear the thought of going through another charade like  _that_ so I just took money.' He tossed out the last sentence as though it was the most natural and logical thing in the world. 'And when Anstruther came along, I was glad to take his offer to work for the Dowager because I knew that with experience in a 'real' job I could eventually get back to living properly even while I was still providing…' Jimmy gave a slight laugh. '…additional services for him and his group. The scandal, when it came, was something of a blessing.'

'So there you have it.' He said, looking up at Thomas.

Thomas stared back in utter shock, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Jimmy shrugged and then looked back down at the floor. 'There you have it.'

Blinking rapidly, Thomas brought himself back to the situation at hand.

'Jimmy…' He said softly. 'Just because he only wanted you for…that, doesn't mean that that's all there is. You cant let one bad person…'

'It's not just one person, it's the entire system.' Said Jimmy, a little of the earlier venom returning to his voice. 'You know how it is. You can't tell anyone, you can't be proud, you can't be happy. There's no security. There's no vows before God to honor someone until the day you die. There's just…two people fulfilling a base urge…. until their attention takes them elsewhere, as it always will.'

'Oh my god…' Breathed Thomas quietly, completely at a loss for words.

Then suddenly, a brief flash of realisation crossed his eyes as he regarded Jimmy. 'You want me to convince you otherwise. Don't you?' Jimmy's head snapped back up abruptly but Thomas continued. 'Underneath it all, you still want to believe. Otherwise why would you tell me all this? There's no reason...'

Angry voices raised screaming protests inside Jimmy's head at Thomas's words and he opened his mouth to retort, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.

'You want me to convince you.' Repeated Thomas in bewilderment.

Silence reigned once again in the dark room.

'It's late.' Said Jimmy eventually. 'We should get some sleep.'

'That's…that's probably for the best.' Said Thomas, eyes still wide in shock as he turned slowly to return to his own bed.


	31. Chapter 31

Robert was having a decidedly un-Merry Christmas.

The family had gathered in the hallway as usual in the morning for the servant's gift giving, and he had thought it would be a nice touch (at least, back when the guest invitations had been initially sent) to inform the visiting nobles of this particular tradition so that they could participate with their own staff if they wished. And participate they did.

As he lingered over the Christmas buffet table later that day, Robert allowed himself to relive the uncomfortable experience.

_It was like participating in some damned primitive ritual!_

The Crawley family had always made a point of giving their servants thoughtful gifts that they thought they would like, or need. Their visitors on the other hand seemed to take the opportunity to indulge in what could only be referred to as a display of ostentatious exhibition, clearly designed to establish a measure of superiority over the other 'chieftains' present.

Robert was able to dismiss the Hartford's gifts to their staff (a silver embossed keepsake box for Lady's Maid Hetty and an equally lavish engraved silver cigarette case for Valet Geoffrey) on account of the eccentricities of age, Lord and Lady Hartford technically belonging to the generation even above Violet. But it proved to be the start of something of a trend. By the time Helen Peterson presented Lady's Maid Tilda with a large box (containing a complete hand-painted fine tea set) on behalf of her parents, he and Cora had exchanged more than one secret and highly critical glance.

Turning slowly away from the buffet table, Robert brought his attention back to the present.

The issue of 'serving oneself' for the Christmas buffet had reared its head again, with the elder of the Grenton brothers offering to temporarily re-purpose the two Valets they had brought to serve the food while the rest of the staff took their Christmas lunch. The offer was made in polite jest, but the implication that his hospitality was in question was clear.

Matthew and Mary had done their best to maintain polite conversation with Lord and Lady Hartford, but were reduced to mute statues in the face of Lord Hartford's proud recounting of the pedigree of his family lineage. He was speaking so loudly on account of his failing hearing that the entire room was in fact being treated to the early eighteenth century exploits of his illustrious ancestors, but unlike Mary and Matthew, the other occupants were not required to feign interest.

Looking across the room, Robert was pleased to note that Cora was engaged in a more lively and (from her facial expression) pleasing conversation with Lady Peterson. His mood sank as he couldn't help but note that Helen Peterson had taken her mother's distracted state (along with her father's, who was engaged in a talk with Lord Greenwood) to flirt unashamedly with Greenwood's son Wilfred and the younger of the Grenton brothers. Robert had the horrible feeling that the decidedly inappropriate conduct of all three of the young guests would only worsen as the Christmas celebrations drew on.

Exhaling slowly, he took his plate over to stand by Violet as she picked through the Christmas cards.

With another glance over at the room, packed with people he suddenly realised he had very little taste for, he made a silent promise to himself.

_NEVER again._

'Oh my days! Never again, upon my word, never again!' Mrs Patmore grumbled downstairs. Accommodating the three unexpected Valets, not to mention the rest of the extra staff, not to mention the army of additional guests upstairs, for the Christmas meals was stretching the kitchen to the utmost. 'I'll tell his Lordship, I will. Never again!' She exclaimed as she handed the second plate of Yorkshire puddings to Ivy to take into the servant's hall.

Inside the servant's hall everybody had been obliged to get much closer on the benches than usual to allow the entire complement of staff to enjoy the Christmas meal together. As usual, there was something of a gradient of joviality as one moved from the somber end of the table which held Carson, Mrs Hughes, O'Brien and Thomas down to the rambunctious maids and hall boys at the far end. The gaggle of Valets in the center, with the exception of Mr Bates, provided a lively and strange middle ground between the two extremes. They were clearly too grand for the bright paper hats, but not too grand to continue on with saucy conversations with the Lady's Maids.

Jimmy sat next to the Valets, grateful that this meant his own refusal to don a paper hat went unremarked. He was also very grateful that his proximity to them meant that he had been able to procure some deep swigs of the whisky in Geoffrey's hip flask, before arrival of the rest of the staff (to all intents and purposes, Mr Carson) had obliged Geoffrey to secrete the flask back in his inner breast pocket. The uncomfortable talk the previous night (although the routine of washing, shaving and dressing had been conducted side by side with Thomas with surprisingly little awkwardness that morning) had killed his ability to engage with the Christmas spirit…except in literal terms.

_That was some good whisky…_

'Keep your feet to yourself, you!' Said Hetty cheekily, addressing Liam, one of the Grenton's Valets who was sitting opposite. 'That's the second time you have stepped on my toes!'

'Oh Liam can't help himself!' Laughed the second Grenton Valet. 'His feet are the size of boats. It's quite extraordinary!'

'I wouldn't draw attention to his feet being larger than yours if I were you.' Said Geoffrey. 'You know what they say…'

Down the far end of the table, Thomas noticed Carson bristle as he overheard the conversation. Thomas worked hard to suppress his own smirk (at both the conversation and Carson's reaction) and returned Carson's outraged glance with eyes that he hoped conveyed his own disapproval. Carson looked back down the table, ready to intervene should the conversation veer much further into dangerous territory.

'My goodness, what do they say?' Said Tilda in fake innocence, clearly hoping to direct the attention of at least some of the Valet's back away from Hetty.

'Well, big shoes of course!' Said Geoffrey, mimicking Tilda's breathy voice.

'Yes, it can be quite a squeeze to get my foot into a shoe. I must say.' Said Liam with a grin.

Tilda suddenly looked highly uncomfortable, her sensibilities clearly a little too delicate for such blatant lewdity.

Hetty, on the other hand, was not in the least bit cowed.

'That sounds like a rather pleasant challenge…' She smiled.

Carson rapidly swallowed the food he was chewing, deciding the time was nigh for him to put a quick end to the discussion.

But he paused for just a fraction of a second too long, allowing Jimmy's tipsy state time to lead him into making what (his clouded mind convinced him at the time) was a highly witty contribution.

'You should try doing two at once.' He said.

The contents of Thomas's mouth (thankfully water as opposed to food at that moment) sprayed over his plate at an involuntary contraction of his throat. This went largely unnoticed as the rest of the table reacted with a violent blend of gasps and coughs before settling into open mouthed silence.

Suddenly Jimmy felt utterly sober.

_Shit…. Shit…. Shit….._

'You know…'cause you wear two shoes…' He began quickly.

'James!' Boomed Mr Carson. 'And you other  _gentlemen_ …' He glared reproachfully at the Valets. '…will cease this obscene talk IMMEDIATELY.'

Jimmy lowered his head to stare intently at the table.

'James, you will appologise to Miss Hetty for your  _particularly_  inappropriate remark!'

While angry at being singled out for reproach (especially given that Hetty was as bad, if not worse, than the rest of them) Jimmy nevertheless pounced on the opportunity to cover up his comment as nothing more than a misjudged attempt at flirting.

He offered the requested apology with as much elegance as he could muster and spent the rest of the meal in silence, his cheeks aflame.


	32. Chapter 32

As he stashed away the last of the formal silver dinner service ware, Thomas was intensely relieved to finally be able to call it a night. The house was almost completely silent and dark as he made his way back to the servant's quarters. He hummed a few bars of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' to himself as he made his way thorough the carefully decorated main rooms and climbed the bare staircase towards the attic.

Arriving at his door he gave a quiet knock.

'Who is it?' Called Jimmy.

_Why am I knocking on my own goddamn door…?_

'Who do you think?' Said Thomas in hushed tones, conscious that the rest of the corridor had likely already turned in (and that noise echoed fiercely down the hallway).

'Oh, come in.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas entered the room, without sparing a glance for Jimmy, and immediately occupied himself with getting out of his jacket and waistcoat as quickly as possible so that he could rip off the stiff shirt front that had been irritating him for the past few hours as he organised the silver cupboard.

'Sorry, I thought it might have been Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy. 'I've been looking over my shoulder all afternoon and evening expecting him to suddenly demand a  _talk_.'

Thomas smiled despite the unsavory overtones of the earlier incident. 'You don't have to worry about that. He's already bitten your head off in public, what else are you expecting him to say? I don't think Mr Carson's heart could stand up to an in depth conversation about that sort of thing from the perspective of a man or a woman, and he knows it.' Finally throwing off the shirt-front with vigor, Thomas shrugged out of his braces and turned towards Jimmy. 'I think you're quite safe…

….Oh!'

Jimmy was sat in front of the fire, naked.

Thomas abruptly turned away again. 'Should I…come back later?' He offered, at something of a loss for words and suddenly feeling very uneasy.

'Relax. I grabbed the chance to have a sponge-bath in your absence and I'm just drying off. We're both men here, what's the problem?'

Thomas gingerly glanced over at him, caught between two equally awkward trains of thought. Firstly, a feeling of intense arousal. Secondly, and more troublesome, a strong sense of déjà vu. The confident and utterly unflappable look on Jimmy's face (despite being caught in a state of undress that would embarrass most people) took Thomas straight back to the day he had accidently stumbled upon Jimmy struggling into his shirt when he first started. Both thoughts led Thomas to the same, cynical, conclusion.

_I think you know EXACTLY what you are doing…_

There was only one thing for it. Thomas crossed over to the cupboard, retrieved his emergency red wine bottle and took a deep swig.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Bringing the bottle back with him, Thomas sat down heavily next to Jimmy.

He was happy to note that the situation was not as bad as first thought, a strategically placed muslin cloth protected at least some of Jimmy's modesty (in the most crucial area), and his hair was still wet, so clearly the bath story was not entirely a fabrication. Although, having made these observations, Thomas resolved to direct his attention away from the acres of flesh on display for the present (for the sake of self preservation).

He offered the bottle to Jimmy.

'No thanks.' Jimmy smiled ruefully. 'I don't seem to be particularly good at gauging my limit these days.'

'Ah!.' Said Thomas, bringing the bottle up to his lips again. 'I did wonder if alcohol had factored into the situation at lunch today. Although, I've no idea how you got it.'

'One of the Valets, he brought a hip flask.' Jimmy shrugged.

'Mmmm. I should have guessed…. I'm looking forward to being rid of that lot I must say. You should look on the bright side. At least what you said managed to shut them up for a second, regrettable though it was. I'm sure the rest of the Downton staff were very grateful.'

Jimmy laughed, hiding his head in his shoulder for a second to stifle the noise. 'The rest of the Downton staff…' He eventually said. '…were shocked and horrified, as well they should be. And the bloody Valets practically demanded I draw them a diagram after lunch to explain the logistics.'

Thomas's face broke into a mischievous grin. 'Well I guess that means Hetty is in for a New Year's celebration to remember…'

They both collapsed in giggles, doubled over with their heads to their knees trying to desperately keep the sound to a minimum.

But when he looked up, the sight of Jimmy's naked shin out of the corner of his eye abruptly killed Thomas's laughter. He traced his eyes back up Jimmy's leg to his bare torso.

'Jimmy…. What are the logistics exactly?'

Jimmy sniffed and brushed away tears of laughter from his cheeks as he took a moment to collect himself.

'Well, the simplest way, which is the one I told the Valets, is that you have one person lying down and then your….ummm, 'receptacle person' sits over them with a leg either side and then a third person sits behind them.' He said brightly, with an ease which turned Thomas's stomach.

'You've done this…?'

Jimmy's eyes widened at the look on Thomas's face.

'Oh dear god, no, no I haven't!' He exclaimed. 'I've just seen it, that's all. No I….' Jimmy's face fell. '…I never went in for that sort of thing. As I understand it there is sometimes…permanent damage.' He said, shuddering slightly.

_Well that's…a relief. I guess._

Thomas nodded slowly, taking another large gulp from the neck of the wine bottle, his tongue absently running along the bottle lip as a few stray drops of red wine threatened to escape.

_Ok, definitely time for a change of topic…._

'It was funny watching Mr Carson shouting at you lot today.' He said. 'It's quite strange to think that technically I could be the one to demand silence from a room... I'm not sure I could!'

'How'd you mean?' Said Jimmy.

'Well, I am Under-Butler…so  _I_ could have been the one to tell them all to shut up. But can you honestly imagine even the Downton staff listening to me, much less  _that_  lot.'

'Well, I suppose you could try gaining a bit of weight and speaking in a deeper voice.' Jimmy said with a grin.

'Deeper voice?' Said Thomas in mock outrage.

'You do sound a bit like a whiny fisherman's wife when you get in a mood…'

'You cheeky little sod!' Said Thomas in as close to a falsetto as his vocal chords would allow. He gave Jimmy a gentle shoulder barge in punishment.

Jimmy lolled sideways slightly, before bringing himself back upright.

'Anyway, you are going to have to be butler one day for Mr Crawley.' He said. Thomas nodded and murmured in agreement. 'Now that I think about it, that was a smart move on Mr Crawley's part. Every lord needs a butler and footman he can trust to help him dispose of a dead body….' Said Jimmy.

The both snorted slightly, but the topic was still quite raw.

'I don't know how we are ever going to make this up to Mr Crawley.' Said Thomas in a small voice.

'Well…' Said Jimmy in fake seriousness. '…you certainly have more to appologise for than me after that night!'

'What!?' Thomas reacted strongly, despite Jimmy's comic tone of voice.

'Not only do you have the poor future Earl throwing someone down the stairs for you, but you then go and give his wife an eyeful….Poor Mr Crawley….I'm guessing things haven't been quite the same in the bedroom since…' Said Jimmy with a raised eyebrow and a very pointed glance down at Thomas's trouser fly.

Thomas burst out laughing again, but the laughter soon died in his throat.

'Oh, what is it now!' Said Jimmy. 'I know that was a genuine laugh! What's wrong?' He grasped Thomas's forearm and turned on his side to face him.

Thomas (while making damn sure to NOT look down to see if the cloth across Jimmy's lap had stayed in place) replied slowly. 'Compliments about size….sounds like something from the streetwalker's handbook.'

Jimmy winced. 'Well, no such handbook exists….' His eyes met Thomas's. '…but I do concede, that if such a document were real, that would likely be the topic of 'Chapter One'!' He said with a grin.

Thomas couldn't help but return Jimmy's smile.

Jimmy shifted to sit a little closer to Thomas, without removing his hand from Thomas's arm. They stayed like that for a long time as the light from the fire began to dim.

Even through his shirt and trousers, Thomas felt the heat radiating from Jimmy's skin just a few inches away. It was nice…and very distracting.

_I never thought that white soap could actually smell good on anyone…but it smells good on him…I wonder how he'd smell if he WASN'T clean…I wonder if….._

_[NO. DAMN IT. NO]_

'You can, if you want to.' Jimmy's voice suddenly broke the silence.

'What?' Said Thomas absently.

'Touch me. You can touch me if you want.'

_I knew it! You calculating little rodent!_

Despite his outrage, Thomas couldn't help but allow himself to unashamedly rake his eyes across Jimmy's body.

_I'm only human after all…and DEAR GOD…_

_…amazing_

Firm, tanned, muscular… yet oh-so youthful….and RIGHT THERE for the taking…..Thomas's starving eyes feasted on the spectacle before them.

_God I want all of this…_

'Do you want to?' Said Jimmy again, snapping Thomas's eyes back up to his face.

_Oh yes…._

_[THINK for a second….what is WRONG with this picture?]_

'It shouldn't just be about what  _I_  want, should it?' Said Thomas eventually, his breathing becoming slightly labored. 'What do  _you_  want?'

Jimmy suddenly looked intensely puzzled.

Thomas brought his free hand up to where Jimmy's still rested on his arm, slowly snaking their fingers together to hold Jimmy's hand in his.

Jimmy's hand remained unresponsive, but he made no move to remove it from Thomas's grasp. He stared down at their interlocked hands in displeasure, suddenly seeming intensely nervous and uncomfortable.

Thomas moved his head slowly towards Jimmy's, resting their foreheads together. The hot breaths from Jimmy's lips were maddening, enticing, but he waited.

Jimmy stayed stock still. The wine on Thomas's breath and the deep musk of his skin combined into the most delicious scent he had ever experienced, and every fiber of his being suddenly called for him to move those last few inches and actually  _taste_  it. But a force far more compelling kept him in place.

And when, after a few minutes of electrically charged hesitation, Thomas finally moved to bring their lips together, Jimmy couldn't help but reject his advance.

Sighing in frustration as Jimmy turned his head away, Thomas quelled the dark impulse that rose within him that suggested he simply take Jimmy up on what he  _was_  offering anyway…

_[Damaged goods aside….will you just LOOK at that body…]_

But a far stronger emotion led Thomas to release Jimmy's hand and sit silently beside him for a few more moments.

As Thomas rose from sitting by the hearth to continue preparing for bed, Jimmy stayed where he was.

He was still sitting alone and staring into the fire for a good while even after Thomas had climbed into bed.


	33. Chapter 33

The following morning Jimmy awoke to the sound of rattling coming from Thomas's bureau.

'Ugh!' He exclaimed, turning over in bed. 'Do you have to do that now?'

'Funnily enough, yes.' Said Thomas, retrieving the straight-razor from the countertop (having brought the excess shaving cream dripping under control) and continuing to draw the blade up over his chin.

'You did it yesterday morning!' Jimmy grumbled, still half asleep, head now buried under the bedcovers.

'I'd rather spend the time shaving each morning rather than worry that Mr Carson is going to try to strike a match off my chin in the servant's hall.'

Jimmy sat up, realising the chance of sleep was unfortunately past for another night. 'Has he ever  _actually_  done that?'

'No…but I'm sure he's thought about it.' Thomas wiped the last of the cream off the razor and went about tidying up the shaving kit

'God…'Jimmy muttered as he swung his feet out of bed. '…I'm not looking forward to having to do that every day.'

Thomas suppressed a laugh. 'Jimmy, if you don't have to do it every day by now…then you probably never will.'

'How'd you figure that?' Said Jimmy, frowning in confusion.

'After you reach a certain age things stop…changing.' Said Thomas, marveling at Jimmy's ability to turn  _any_ mildly enjoyable conversation into an awkward and traumatic experience.

'What age?' Jimmy demanded, clearly somewhat perplexed at this new information.

'It's….it's different for everyone.' Said Thomas, highly wishing he had just kept his mouth shut. 'But, I can assure you that things tend to settle down before you hit your mid-twenties, so… I think you're pretty much there. No more surprises.' Shrugging into his jacket, Thomas made a hasty exit. 'Hurry up or you're going to be late!' He called over his shoulder as he left.

Rushing down the stairs to make it in time to assist with the pre-shooting party arrangements, Thomas dolefully added 'Father' to the already ridiculously long list of roles that Jimmy seemed to need him to fulfill.

_I've never needed comfort more in MY life and instead I get saddled with the unfathomable emotional needs of a broken, damaged, selfish…._

'Mr Carson! Good morning.' Thomas practically bumped into him as he rounded the turn into the servant's hall.

'Ah, Mr Barrow. Straight to business, if you don't mind. The intention today is for myself and James to mind Lord and Lady Hartford and Mr Branson and in the drawing room while the shooting party is in progress. Yourself and Alfred will take charge of the shooting lunch at the Miller's barn. Do you have any objections?' Mr Carson's face made it clear that there would be  _no_  objections.

'Very good, Mr Carson.' Thomas gave a slight bow and went to confer with Mrs Patmore about the arrangements before breakfast.

As they entered the Miller's barn later that day to begin setting up, Thomas was decidedly on edge. Somewhere amid the recent comedy of emotions regarding Jimmy, he had largely forgotten about the festering hatred that Alfred had been nurturing for months. The stony and purposeful silence that Alfred maintained for the entire car ride down to the barn rapidly brought the matter back to the forefront of his mind.

Alfred began to set the table without waiting for instruction from Thomas, and he was content to leave him to it for the sake of his nerves. However, once the table was set and the food ready to be unpackaged at the arrival of the guests, the continued silence as the minutes ticked by began to weigh heavily on Thomas.

'How are things with Mr Moseley?' He offered with a sympathetic smile.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Replied Alfred gruffly.

Thomas bit his lip in irritation. 'It means….Well, how are things with Mr Moseley?...We imagine he must be something of an eccentric roommate.' Thomas added, still attempting to meet Alfred's death glare with an expression of good (and in no way patronising) humor.

'Never mind about him, you'd best be minding your own business.' Said Alfred, clearly very vexed at having to address Thomas at all. 'And don't think  _we_  don't know how happy you are about the rooms. You'd best be keeping your filthy hands off of him.'

_No need to ask who you are referring to, you nasty git…_

'Believe me, I have!' Thomas responded instantly, then realised that that particular response didn't quite strike the right tone. 'I mean, not that I would…!' He hastily added.

'Like hell you wouldn't. Your sort can't help yourselves, can you?'

_Honestly, you try to be nice to people…_

'Given your strong feelings about 'my sort' Alfred, it is perhaps fortunate that the good lord has seen fit to bless you with a countenance that functions effectively against all who would otherwise try to corrupt you.' Thomas kept his face blank as he spoke, but his inner devil was laughing furiously. He had anticipated Alfred misunderstanding the highly insulting insinuation of his words, but he had to admit a small part of him was somewhat hungering for a fight.

The fire that suddenly appeared behind Alfred's eyes showed that he had gotten the message, even if the particulars had passed him by, and it was perhaps fortunate that the voices of the approaching shooting party rang out in the distance at that particular moment.


	34. Chapter 34

A few days later Thomas found himself glowering at the date on the newspaper in disgust.

_Two more days until New Year's Eve….and even then we get lumbered with most of the guests until the bloody servant's ball. I wonder if the bloke in Jimmy's room will be leaving with the earlier lot….Oh God, PLEASE make it so…_

Thomas desperately needed some time alone to  _think_. He hadn't truly begun to process what had happened in the build up to Christmas, and now, being surrounded by rambunctious Valets seemingly every hour of the day and a (now suspiciously quiet) ever-present Jimmy all hours of the night, meant that he was slowly slipping back into his numb and suppressive default behavior. It was the defense mechanism that had allowed him to carry on in the months following the fallout of his idiotic decision to force (he had to admit the word was somewhat appropriate in hindsight) a kiss on Jimmy, and it was at least enabling him to  _function_  during the additional stress of the festive period.

But unfortunately, several of the staff members had noticed that something was more seriously afoot this time. Mrs Hughes for one had taken him aside and asked if there was anything on his mind. He was unable to convince her there was nothing wrong (his acting skills not quite stretching that far), and given that there was no part of the situation he could safely let her in on, he was regrettably compelled to reject her proffered offer of help and state categorically that he had no intention of speaking about it to anyone. Clearly offended that her good will and discretion were in question (after everything she had already done for him), Thomas's response prompted Mrs Hughes to rather harshly inform him that 'If you don't want to talk about it, then for goodness sake stop using your mood to draw attention to it!'

Thomas rubbed his chin and screwed his noes up in displeasure at the memory of their conversation before returning his attention back to the paper.

Ignoring the other occupants of the room, Thomas was gulping down tea and flicking his cigarette as though it had personally offended him at the moment when Jimmy reappeared in the servant's hall.

'Mr Barrow, I wonder if I might trouble you for some assistance?'

Thomas looked up at him in deep annoyance, without releasing his hold on the cigarette or the cup to make it clear he  _was_  in the middle of something.

'It's just that the clock in the second floor corridor seems to be playing up.'

'I'll come and look at it later.' Said Thomas, noting that several other staff (including Alfred) had started to listen in.

'Why not now…?'

Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but as his luck would have it Mr Carson entered the room at precisely that moment. While 'I'm having a fag, so shove off' might have previously been appropriate, suddenly Thomas didn't fancy his chances. He viciously stubbed out the cigarette and made a show of rapidly sipping down the entire contents of the tea cup before deigning to follow Jimmy.

Up on the second floor corridor, Thomas regarded the clock-hands for a moment before listening intently to the sound of the mechanism. He drew back with a frown.

'The time is right and there's nothing that jumps out as odd. Did the problem happen when you tried to wind it?' Said Thomas over his shoulder to Jimmy.

Jimmy simply shrugged, seeming more than a little distracted.

'Well give me the key, I'll give it a go…' Jimmy pressed the key into Thomas's stretched out hand, lingering longer than necessary. Thomas only registered this in passing, his attention almost entirely on what appeared to be a completely healthy clock.

'Thomas….' Jimmy said tentatively.

'That's 'Mr Barrow'. Now just give me a minute to figure this out!' Thomas fixed the key into the hole in the clock face.

'Thomas….forget the damn clock. There's nothing wrong with it.'

Thomas stopped what he was doing abruptly.

_Oh for fucks sake…_

'For what it's worth Jimmy, I have been enjoying what you've been doing these past few days. You know, the odd small talk and the absolutely bugger all else besides…I was rather hoping that would continue.' Thomas slowly turned back to face Jimmy, who looked very sheepish.

'You don't mean that.' Said Jimmy simply.

Thomas looked away in frustration.

'Look…I….' But Jimmy couldn't find any words.

So instead he stepped in closer.

He raised both arms to Thomas's shoulders and interlocked the fingers of his hands behind his neck, pulling Thomas's face down and towards his own. Through the anger in Thomas's eyes, Jimmy could see a slight hint of challenge. It was this, more than the fact that Thomas made no move to push him away that compelled him onwards.

The ticks of the clock seemed to each take hours to Jimmy as he slowly moved his face upwards.

Standing on the balls of his feet, arms still around Thomas's neck, Jimmy's lips finally pressed against Thomas's.

Jimmy stayed awkwardly still for a moment as their mouths made contact, suddenly very unsure as to how to proceed. He withdrew a tiny distance, still close enough to feel Thomas's lips under his own and took a few short breaths, pondering what on earth he was supposed to do next. Wetting his lips with his tongue he settled on enveloping first Thomas's upper lip, then his lower lip, in his own.

Thomas remained motionless as Jimmy tended slowly to his lips.

But as Jimmy withdrew, face unmistakably fearful that he had failed in his efforts, Thomas reached to grasp his waist with both hands and pulled him in closer as he lowered his head.

With barely a second's hesitation he crushed their mouths together, vigorously coaxing Jimmy's lips open with his own and drawing a surprised gasp from him in the process.

Jimmy lost himself entirely in the feeling of saliva slicked lips moving urgently against one another.

He couldn't suppress a slight satisfied moan at the unfamiliar sensations as Thomas persuaded his mouth yet wider, deepening the kiss. The stale taste of cigarette smoke suddenly becoming akin to ambrosia as he devoured every hint of the velvety warmth of Thomas's inner mouth that was made available to him. For the briefest moment, Jimmy's uncharacteristically unguarded and unashamedly enthusiastic response, allowed Thomas to fully give himself over to the rare pleasure of being wanted by someone that (for the longest time) he had been in impotent awe of.

At the sound of voices around the bend in the corridor they broke abruptly apart, staring at each other.

Thomas took in Jimmy's uncertain, fearful and yet clearly aroused expression.

He wondered to himself if Jimmy knew that this was a far more alluring prospect than the self assured, naked ( _creature_ ) persona that he had tried to seduce him with a few nights previous.

The key difference of course being that in that particular moment, there was no 'persona', only Jimmy.

Or at least, Thomas sincerely hoped so.


	35. Chapter 35

That evening, once again, Thomas was late to return to the room.

He was half hoping that Jimmy would already be asleep. If he was honest, he wanted to postpone dealing with him for as long as possible. There was something akin to warmth in his breast at the recollection of Jimmy's wide-eyed surprise at the kiss earlier. However there was also the almost complete certainty that if Jimmy  _had_ finally got a handle on his own feelings, then things were apt to get a lot more awkward before they settled.

He paused for a while at the bedroom door, not fully trusting himself to be able to deal with what lay beyond.

Thankfully, his fears were at least temporarily unfounded.

The room was dark save for a solitary candle burning on Jimmy's bedside table. He was sitting up in bed, both undershirt and (presumably) pyjama trousers present and correct, twisted slightly to hold the book in his hands up to catch the light.

Jimmy looked up with a nervous smile as Thomas entered.

'Sorry to have kept you up…if you were waiting for me.' Said Thomas quietly. He set to the task of undressing and locating his pyjamas, anything to postpone the inevitable awkwardness of trying to figure out what Jimmy was expecting by way of conversation or actions. As to the extent of his own hopes (or comfort zone), Thomas had absolutely no idea. His perpetually groggy state after yet another day's worth of hard work on very little sleep was somewhat dulling his perceptions.

'It's ok.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas glanced over at him as he stripped off his trousers, thinking for a second that he had caught Jimmy's eyes wandering over to him. But Jimmy's face, buried in the pages of the book, gave nothing away whatsoever.

_Nice…_

In his undershirt and pyjama trousers, Thomas stood holding his striped pyjama top debating whether or not the temperature was appropriate (read: whether or not Jimmy would think him something of a fuddy duddy) if he were to throw it on over his undershirt. He mused once again over his mind's infuriating ability to fixate on insignificant details in the face of other more pressing matters.

There was a giggle from across the room. Jimmy was looking over at him with merriment in his eyes, having guessed the route of Thomas's indecision as he stood in the dark half of the room, his pyjama top clutched aloft in distaste.

Thomas's serious expression cracked into an embarrassed but easy smile as he tossed the shirt back into the chest of drawers.

He retrieved a candlestick from his own bedside table and crossed over to Jimmy's side to light it.

Jimmy's gaze followed him intently the entire time.

As the second candle caught light Thomas's eyes met Jimmy's as the brief blaze of the flame lit up the depths of his dark blue irises.

_Pools to drown in indeed…_

Thomas decided that perhaps he could stomach a conversation after all.

Setting the candlestick a safe distance away on the floor he returned to stand at the bedside.

'May I…?' He indicated the bed.

Jimmy nodded quickly.

Thomas sat down next to the small mounds made by Jimmy's knees, his feet resting on the floor, hands clasped together in his lap.

'So…where did that come from today?' Said Thomas softly. 'Not that I'm complaining.' He added, with a reassuring look.

Jimmy gave an awkward laugh. 'I just…it's what I tried to get out the day after the Duke…well the day after he…'

Thomas nodded abruptly to show he knew which day Jimmy was talking about.

_Please get to the point…_

'What I was trying to say, was just that….I think that night we both proved that there's not much of anything we won't do for each other. And, it got me thinking that…feelings like that are, well….quite rare.' Jimmy said. 'And I thought, perhaps…I had made a mistake before in dismissing you and…everything else.'

_You honestly think it's going to be THAT easy after everything you've said and done…?_

But Jimmy looked so dejected and uncomfortable that Thomas found himself searching for a way to lighten the mood rather than reproach him.

'Well…a bloke certainly has to jump through some hoops to get your attention, doesn't he?' Said Thomas with a wry smile. Jimmy choked out a laugh in response and they both relaxed a little.

'But you're not getting off that easily.' Said Thomas, moving to pry one of Jimmy's hands away from his book and hold it in his own as Jimmy's face fell at his words (seemingly completely unconscious of Thomas's comforting gesture).

'Jimmy, over these past months you have….mistreated…and confused the hell out of me.' He said, wishing he could have concocted a more elegant way to put it. 'And frankly, I need you to hold off on the random fireplace nudity or the tricking me into phony clock repairs….or, anything along those lines….until I've had time to figure out who you actually are.'

Jimmy looked utterly crestfallen.

'Hey!' Thomas exclaimed, squeezing tightly on Jimmy's hand. Jimmy glanced down, registering their clasped hands as though for the first time. 'It's something I'm looking forward to.' Thomas said in hushed tones, running his thumb in small circles over Jimmy's palm.

Jimmy nodded slightly to show he understood.

Thomas enveloped him in a loose hug, the corners of the book Jimmy still clasped in a single hand digging into his stomach a little.

As they drew back from being cheek to cheek, in spite of himself Thomas ended up hovering with his mouth over Jimmy's.

'Wait.' Breathed Jimmy suddenly, finally releasing his hold on the book he brought a finger up to Thomas's lips.

Thomas watched him quizzically as Jimmy sank backwards to rest his head on the pillow. Cupping the back of Thomas's neck briefly he gave a mischievous smile before shutting his eyes, his face becoming instantly peaceful and still as he crossed his arms across his chest.

Thomas smiled.

He allowed himself the time to take in every minute detail of Jimmy's fine-cut features.

To Jimmy's credit, he didn't peek or stir.

Moving agonizingly slowly, knowing that Jimmy would be able to read his proximity in the increased weight across his chest and the heat of his skin, Thomas brought his lips to Jimmy's.

Tilting his head to the right, he slowly kissed him. The kiss was chaste, closed-mouthed, but desperately lingering. A clear statement of intent.

Jimmy responded in kind, murmuring slightly against Thomas's mouth.

He deliberately made a poor job of pretending to wake, but when they broke apart the jubilant smile that greeted Thomas's searching look was entirely genuine.

Returning Jimmy's smile, Thomas rose up off the bed and collected the candlestick from the floor before crossing back to his side of the room.

_So…a personal epiphany from Jimmy, a mutual recognition of feelings, and a cautious (but workable) plan for the future…._

_[Forgive me, but that was a little TOO easy...Don't you think?]_


	36. Chapter 36

With less than fifteen minutes to go before the clock struck midnight, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes set about distributing the modest sized wine glasses throughout the servant's hall.

As they each accepted their glasses, more than a few of the Downton staff made a mental note to toast to the holiday season drawing to a close as much as to the New Year. The extra guests and staff had stretched the 'seasonal goodwill' of Downton Abbey to the extreme, and the knowledge that their presence would soon be at an end led to far more merriment amongst the Downton servants than they cared to admit.

Standing beside Carson, Mrs Hughes surveyed the room.

Unsurprisingly, the visiting Valets and Lady's Maids formed something of a tight group standing on one side of the table, although she noted with a smile that the most quiet and agreeable member (Jack, one of the Greenwood's Valets) had separated himself from the pack and moved to tentatively stand by Downton Maid Gill. Mrs Hughes sighed internally at the sight of Daisy hovering by Alfred (getting no attention from the later whatsoever), who was glaring across the table to where Ivy stood talking in lively tones to Jimmy.

Her eyes met Mrs Patmore's (who was standing by O'Brien in the 'don't even think about it, we are old enough to be your mothers' corner, with Molesley loitering awkwardly nearby) and they both exchanged an exasperated but nevertheless amused look at the folly of youth.

As she shifted her gaze to Anna and Mr Bates, Mrs Hughes smiled warmly. Alone at the far end of the table, the two were in quite a world of their own. By the looks on their faces, it was a magnificent world indeed.

Reluctantly, Mrs Hughes finally allowed herself to glance towards Thomas.

He was the only member of the assembled group that was actually sitting down at the table, and he was doing with the clear design of being left alone. Browsing a newspaper like a shield, he seemed to be doing his best to avoid engaging with the merriment around him in any way shape or form (although he had certainly accepted a glass of wine earlier and already drained the majority of its contents). Mrs Hughes regarded him sadly.

'Just ten minutes to go now!' Announced Mr Carson in a loud voice, drawing several exaggerated gasps and giggles from the assembled crowd. With a smile, Mrs Hughes turned her attention back to Mr Carson.

Thomas took the announcement as his cue to light up another cigarette.

'You're not quite getting into the spirit of things, are you Mr Barrow?' Said Liam with a hint of distaste from across the table (angry at Hetty having pointed out moments ago that of the assembled men she found Thomas to be quite the most intriguing, and Liam was eager to re-assert his dominance in the masculine arena). 'I know the fairer sex are in short supply this evening, but you could at least make a bit of an effort.'

Several of the Downton staff, Mrs Hughes and Bates in particular, eyed Thomas nervously.

'I didn't want to spoil your fun.' Said Thomas, with an evil smile. 'An Under-Butler versus a Valet…' He gave a little laugh after the last word to ram the point home. '…it would hardly be a fair competition now, would it?'

The staff relaxed. There was the Thomas they all knew and…..well, that they knew.

Liam shot daggers back at Thomas, but seemed to concede a silent 'Touché'. He began to turn back to the group.

'It'd be no competition at all. When you've got no interest in the prize.' Alfred's voice suddenly rang out in the resulting silence as he lost the battle with his tenuous self-control in the face of Thomas's smug confidence.

Thomas's head snapped up abruptly. He stared wide-eyed at Alfred, not entirely believing (or wanting to believe) he had heard correctly what Alfred had just shouted out for the entire servant's hall to hear. The assembled group of Valets and Maids turned to face Alfred, intrigued.

'Alfred….!' Carson cautioned in a low voice.

'What was that?' Said Liam.

_Please, no._

'Him?...He's a filthy queer.' Said Alfred, not taking his eyes from Thomas as he spoke.

_Fuck…_

'You what?' Said Geoffrey, joining in the discussion with a look of disbelief.

'Like's men does our Mr Barrow.' Said Alfred in a mocking tone.

Thomas stared open mouthed back at Alfred.

'Gosh, I never met one of  _them_  before…' Said Hetty.

The rest of the room had been rendered speechless, no one having the foggiest idea how to salvage the situation.

'I don't understand what you mean?' Daisy's endearing voice sounded from beside Alfred.

Feeling his facial muscles start to betray him entirely, Thomas dropped his head down and rested his palm across his forehead (effectively shielding the specifics of his reaction from the room).

Somehow, it was Mrs Patmore who broke from her stunned state first. She bustled over to the door.

'Daisy, Ivy, with me…now!'

With a face still full of confusion, not taking her eyes off Thomas, Daisy slowly moved over to the door to join her.

Ivy remained, reluctant to leave Jimmy's side despite the warning glares from Mrs Patmore.

'You'd best go.' Said Jimmy quietly, sincerely nervous at the attention suddenly directed towards himself because of Ivy's hesitation.

'But I don't…' A hint of realization suddenly dawned on Ivy's face. 'Was this why he was going to be sacked?...Why  _you_  fell out with him?' She spoke directly to Jimmy, clearly hoping that answers would finally be forthcoming.

Jimmy hesitated, unwilling to speak on either account, unknowingly winning himself some points from Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes.

'Oh, aye.' Alfred interjected, saving him the bother of trying to concoct an appropriate response by voicing an entirely inappropriate one of his own. 'Mr Barrow took quite a shine to our James here. Tried to have his way with him after dark…'

'And I refused!' Jimmy shouted back angrily, Ivy all but forgotten in his fury at Alfred.

He may as well of not spoken.

Geoffrey looked incredulously between Jimmy and Thomas (still hunched over the table) and raised an eyebrow. 'Good God.' He said, addressing the other Valets. 'No wonder little blondie here is so clued up on carnal matters. I hear his lot…' He indicated towards Thomas. '…engage in all kinds of perversions.'

'You bastard!' Jimmy shouted, as he jumped onto the table (eager to take whatever route would allow his fist to collide with Geoffrey's face as swiftly as possible). Mr Carson made a grab for him, and somehow managed to pull him away before contact was made.

All descended into chaos amid the amused shouts and laughs of the Valets, the angry responses of the Downton staff and the commotion of Jimmy's continuous struggles against Carson's grip.

'That is ENOUGH from you!' An entirely unfamiliar voice drew the attention of everyone in the room, including Mr Carson who had been intending to shout the exact same thing.

Thomas stood bolt upright at the side of the table, with a presence that would shame even a fire-and-brimstone priest.

'I should not need to remind your good selves that you are guests in  _my_ Master's house and that you are  _my_  inferiors and I will thank you to cease giving voice to your disgusting thoughts and in future to give no credence to rumors spread by petulant children.' He glared pointedly at Alfred.

The rowdy group of visiting staff became instantly silent and uneasy.

The Downton staff exchanged looks of surprise and pleasure.

When the clock finally struck midnight a few moments later, Thomas found himself the recipient of a highly approving smile from Mr Carson, a warm clasp of the hand by Mrs Hughes and a wink from Mrs Patmore. Sadly, as the moment passed, he could not ignore the sick feeling that was creeping back into his gut as the adrenaline from his moment of daring faded.

The sound of the bell from the upstairs drawing room (so soon after the midnight chimes) startled all the staff.

'I'll go.' Said Thomas quickly, giving silent thanks for the excuse to leave.

He rapidly regretted the decision when faced with the situation in the drawing room.

Everyone stared in surprise when Thomas reappeared at the doorway to the servant's hall in a matter of minutes.

'I need you, you, you and…you!' Thomas indicated Carson, Jimmy, Alfred and (with hesitation) Geoffrey before turning abruptly on his hell and going back the way he had come.

Additional men would have probably been a help under the circumstances, but, Thomas mused as he led the group rapidly up the stairs, including the Greenwood, Grenton or Peterson's Valets would likely only add fuel to this particular fire.

As he pushed open the door to the drawing room, the eyes of his accompanying group stretched wide as saucers at the prospect within.

The majority of the guests and Crawley family were pressed against the side of the room, staring in horror and disapproval at the spectacle of not only Wilfred and the younger of the Grenton brothers exchanging blows, but also the elder Grenton and Lord Greenwood himself. Helen Peterson was in tears and being restrained by her own father at the far side of the room. It didn't take a genius to work out that a dispute (or at least a misunderstanding) as to the arrangements for Helen's New Year kiss had somehow gotten a little out of hand.

One of the sofa's had been upended, and as Lord Grenton's back grazed the sharp edge of the wooden leg his agonised shout compelled the assembled servants into action. With a surprising amount of difficulty, they eventually had all four men restrained (being disallowed to manhandle gentlemen, in the strictest sense of the word, making the task somewhat complicated, but they eventually settled on a method that allowed them to treat the nobles with dignity while making damn sure they stopped taking chunks out of one-another).

From the side of the room a very flustered Robert considered his next move carefully, desperate for some eloquent words of wisdom to diffuse the situation. But his mind would not cooperate, and in his capacity as host he was eventually forced to fall back on the traditional sidestep that they all ought to get some sleep.


	37. Chapter 37

'Can you believe that happened? I was desperate to laugh the whole time!' Jimmy said with a grin, standing shirtless by the fire as he hung up his towel to dry. 'A group of Lords rolling around like blokes in a bar-room brawl….I've never seen anything so funny!' Jimmy glanced over his shoulder towards Thomas, who was standing silently with his back to him working his way through buttoning his pyjama shirt.

'And that Wilfred…' Continued Jimmy, as he stripped off his trousers and under-pants in one smooth movement before (somewhat less gracefully) hopping into his pyjama trousers. '…I can't believe it took Mr Carson  _and_  Alfred to get him off of that other fellow. Could have had a good career as a prize fighter, that one!' Jimmy laughed to himself. He looked over again at Thomas, who was occupied with arranging something on top of his bureau and giving no reaction whatsoever to his words. 'And I loved the way his Lordship told them all to go to bed, like naughty school boys….' Jimmy paused, watching Thomas intently out of the corner of his eye.

'Ok…what's wrong?'

Thomas didn't reply, merely fixing him with a dark look before returning to whatever was out of place on the bureau top.

'Is it Alfred? Is it what Alfred said today?' Said Jimmy. 'What does that matter? It's not like everyone didn't already know.'

'Not everyone knew.' Said Thomas gruffly, without bothering to look back at him.

'The people that  _matter_  already knew, Mr Carson for one, so it's not like you're going to get fired or anything.'

Thomas sniffed in disdain. 'You didn't have to act the way you did.' He finally said.

'I am sorry that…well, what exactly were you expecting me to say? You  _do_  like men, like that. And I understand that you must be frustrated at being singled out given what you now know about me…but…'

'I know…believe me I know that you couldn't say anything to defend me. I bloody know.' Thomas's voice cracked at the last sentence, he gripped the sides of the bureau and took some deep breaths before continuing. 'But you didn't have to go and make it worse, did you?'

'What? What did I do?'

'Launching yourself over the table….' Thomas swung his hand in a highly theatrical gesture towards Jimmy. '…trying to hit that man. As though having Alfred shout about me to all and sundry wasn't bad enough. For Christ's sake Jimmy…I can't afford to have any more trouble laid at my door over…' Thomas gesticulated towards himself in exasperation, temporarily at a loss for words. '…His Lordship has already gone above and beyond for me, I don't think his patience will last if he hears people are still at each other's throats about it.'

'Great. I thought you were chewing my ear off over me  _not_  defending you. And now I'm getting in shit because I tried to punch someone who insulted you…?' Jimmy turned away angrily. He moved back over to the fireplace, running slightly shaking fingers over the nearby towel rack in an effort to distract himself from the present unpleasantness.

He heard Thomas making his way rapidly across the room with heavy footsteps but he didn't bother to look up.

'Ugh!' Jimmy's eyes widened in shock as Thomas's fingers were suddenly at the back of his neck in a strange parody of the gentle caress from when Thomas had praised his piano skills in the servant's hall months ago.

But this time the grip was bruising and his nails dug in.

'Do not…' Thomas said in a lifeless voice. '…for one moment think you can insult my intelligence by pretending that your outburst tonight was in aid of  _anyone's_  pride but your own.'

Thomas released his hold abruptly, shoving Jimmy forward and away from him as he did so.

Jimmy stumbled forward a pace, but halted himself by gripping down on the towel rack, spinning round hastily to meet Thomas's furious gaze.

'Thomas, I'm sorry!' He whispered quickly.

Thomas's face softened almost instantly at Jimmy's suddenly fearful expression.

They stood silently for a moment.

'No, I'm sorry.' Said Thomas gently. 'I suppose there's just no one else that I can…'

He was cut off unexpectedly as Jimmy closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against Thomas's as he threw his arms around his neck.

The sudden warmth and gloriously sun-like smell of Jimmy's bare skin had Thomas feeling as though he had just sunk a very large and reassuring shot of brandy, the night's trauma melting away as he hugged Jimmy's upper body tightly to his own.

Jimmy kissed him hungrily, distracting him to the degree that when the backs of Thomas's calf muscles collided with the side of his bed he was very surprised to register that they had in fact backed across the whole length of the room without him realising.

Jimmy broke the kiss just long enough to push Thomas back onto the bed, climbing on top of him swiftly, before returning to devouring his lips.

Eventually he was forced to come up for air.

Sitting astride Thomas's lap, Jimmy smiled down at him. He ran a finger along Thomas's jaw line then down to rest at the base of his throat, where he began to one-handedly flick the pyjama shirt buttons open.

'I should have realised when you put this on that you were mad at me.' He teased. 'It is hard to be alluring in a garment that screams modesty and old age…' Pulling the shirt open he bent down to nuzzle at Thomas's naked shoulder. 'But I do applaud you for the lack of undershirt.' He smiled again before beginning to slowly kiss and lick a trail down the center of Thomas's chest as he climbed lower down his body.

Thomas lowered a hand to run his fingers through Jimmy's hair as Jimmy reached his belly and took a moment to tease the flesh (which, to Thomas's discomfort, was perhaps a little less toned than it ought to be) with his tongue.

Thomas snaked his hand under Jimmy's jaw and coaxed his head up to look at him. Jimmy smiled and raised an eyebrow as he met Thomas's gaze before turning his attention back to his southwards progress.

He took the waistband of Thomas's trousers in his teeth and began to draw them down.

'Stop.' Said Thomas sharply.

Jimmy looked back up at him quizzically.

'I don't want… _that_. Not right now.'

Jimmy raised his eyebrow again.

'Doesn't look like that to me.' He said, dipping his head to lightly nip at Thomas's erection through the fabric of his trousers.

'No, come on. I just need some…comfort, reassurance. That's all.'

Jimmy frowned, but consented to allow himself to be drawn back up to lie over Thomas.

Thomas wrapped his arms around him and planted a soft kiss at his temple.

'Sorry…' Said Thomas. 'I'm just feeling a bit fragile. As I'm sure you can imagine!' He said with a small laugh.

'I understand.' Said Jimmy, lowering his head to kiss him.

The kiss was gentle at first, but soon became more enthusiastic. Thomas was somewhat taken aback when Jimmy began to probe into his mouth with his tongue, but his dubious train of thought rapidly melted under the heat and passion of the kiss.

Almost out of reflex, their bodies began to slide up against one another. The movement between their aligned groins becoming increasingly urgent under the friction of the thin layers of fabric separating their skin.

His earlier hesitation quite forgotten, Thomas gripped Jimmy's hips tightly to direct his movements as they became more vigorous and focused.

Savoring the long-forgotten sensations.

_Oh HELL yes!_

Maddened by the glorious feelings, Thomas found himself moaning appreciatively (as loud as he dared under the circumstances) into Jimmy's mouth as they panted against each other.

When Jimmy rolled away to lie face down beside him, drawing his own trousers down in the process, Thomas was on him immediately.

But as he began to settle into position (an instinct beyond primal cutting through his inexperience), dropping a hand down below Jimmy's waist to run over the smooth curve of his rear, he suddenly felt that something was wrong.

Thomas couldn't quite place the feeling of unease that began to wash over him, but he most certainly resented the hell out of it.

_Why do you have to go looking for problems?_

_Especially RIGHT NOW…._

He grasped Jimmy by the hair and pulled his face round to look back at him.

Jimmy moved his head forwards, clearly anticipating a kiss, but when Thomas made no move to close the distance between their lips he drew back.

_Oh there it is…_

_What's wrong….right there in those eyes…_

Sometimes Thomas hated his own mind. At this particular moment he would have happily let someone excise parts of his brain with a spoon if it meant he could just 'go with the moment'.

Despite his rapidly rising libido (and heart rate) Thomas couldn't quite ignore the fact that Jimmy's look held none of the hopefulness, trepidation, happiness, arousal…or in fact any emotion that would have been acceptable under the circumstances.

_It's like he's not feeling anything at all._

_But he's certainly thinking…calculating…_

Thomas sprang back as though burned.

He got up off the bed quickly and turned away as he began to do his shirt back up.

'What is it?' Said Jimmy, propping himself up on his elbows.

Thomas took a moment before he turned back to face him.

'What are you thinking?' Said Thomas.

Jimmy's brow creased in confusion. 'I don't…'

'Right now, what are you thinking?' Thomas demanded.

'That I…I want to make you feel better.' Jimmy stuttered.

_Oh God…_

'You don't have to  _do_  anything to make me feel better. Just you being here is enough. This…' Thomas indicated between them. '…is not….well, you don't have to do this now just to make me feel better!' He said, shivering slightly in agitation and frustrated arousal.

'But I want to!' Exclaimed Jimmy, pulling his pyjama trousers back up as he got up off the bed to stand by Thomas. He took one of Thomas's hands in his and placed it on the bare skin of his chest. 'I want to make you feel good. I want to show you that all that you have to go through alone to protect me is worth it. I want to show you that  _I'm_  worth it!' He said, speaking almost impossibly fast.

Thomas stared back at him in stunned silence, the words of a dead man suddenly forcing themselves to the front of his mind…

_['I'm sure his gratitude will be…rewarding.']_

'Please Thomas…' Jimmy's words cut into Thomas's thoughts. '…whatever you want, it's yours. Just tell me!'

'I genuinely don't want anything! Not like this. Not out of some sense of obligation!' Said Thomas desperately. 'I just want you to be here for me, that's all!'

'That's what I'm trying to do.' Said Jimmy. 'If you would just let me…'

'Do you genuinely think that your body is all you have to give?'

Thomas took in Jimmy's wide and fearful eyes.

_Oh bollocks…_

'You think you  _have_  to.' Said Thomas slowly.

Jimmy stepped in closer. 'Please just….'

Thomas stepped back and wrenched his hand out of Jimmy's grip. 'What the FUCK is wrong with you?' He shouted, completely forgetting the tens of other occupants of the servant's quarters who were separated from them by a few thin walls.

'Me? You're the one who keeps rejecting me. You tell  _me_  what's wrong!' Jimmy said angrily.

Thomas stared at him in amazement. 'You….You're not right in the head! And the fact that you can't begin to comprehend that…'

Thomas turned away and slammed both fists into the wooden paneling of the wardrobe, the wood didn't break but the sound was loud and the doors rattled on their hinges.

Jimmy flinched and crossed his arms defensively across his chest.

The door to the room was flung open, admitting a very indignant (but clearly uncomfortable and nervous) Carson, a fuming Alfred and a bewildered Geoffrey. From the sounds in the corridor outside, it was clear that they weren't the only ones who had been woken by the commotion.

The three men stared between Thomas, who stood still facing the wardrobe, and Jimmy.

'What in the name of…' Carson began, but Thomas cut him off.

'Get him out of here.' He said, pointing across the room at Jimmy without turning round.

'Mr Barrow, what is…'

'Get him out of here NOW!' Thomas shouted. 'I don't care how you do it or where you put him, but get him the hell out of my room!'

Carson was stunned into silence.

'I think you'd best come with me.' Said Geoffrey quickly to Jimmy.

Jimmy hesitated a moment, staring angrily at Thomas's back, before stomping across the room to strip some of the sheets off the spare bed and allowing himself to be led across the corridor by Geoffrey.

Thomas brought both hands up to press against his temples, still not turning towards Carson.

'Leave us, Alfred.' Said Carson.

Alfred made no move to go, glowering across the room at Thomas.

'Alfred, that was not a request!' Said Carson brusquely.

'If he's done  _anything_ …' Alfred began.

' _I_  will be the one to get to the bottom of this matter.' Said Carson, with a warning glare at Alfred.

He finally gave a slight bow and exited the room.

Carson hesitated a while before finally speaking. 'Mr Barrow…I sincerely hope for your sake that your explanation is a good one.'


	38. Chapter 38

The situation, having gone from 'gut wrenchingly bad' to 'apocalyptic' in a matter of seconds, had Thomas wanting nothing more than to collapse into hysterical laughter.

_Because, really…? Fucking REALLY?_

_Just kicked a heart-stoppingly BEAUTIFUL bloke out of bed, out of my room, threw a tantrum….why?_

_[Why, because you have such HIGH morals my dear!]_

_Sure, I do love my conscience….such a lovely conscious….one which lies bloody dormant aside from the rare occasions whereby moral laxity would be the preferable option….then I get THIS._

_Standing in my nightclothes with a pissed off Carson, trying to think how the feck I can justify having woken the entire corridor…oh, and then there's the erection…_

_Yep….still there!_

Under the circumstances he really ought to turn around and face Carson and stand to attention.

However, that was most definitely not an option at that particular moment. He rapidly concluded that the danger of showing disrespect while in Carson's presence was outweighed by the (extremely numerous) potential issues should his arousal be noted, so he moved quickly and precisely to sit on the side of Jimmy's abandoned bed and doubled over, as though in shame, to shield his lap.

_Right, well that's one thing taken care of…_

_Now what?_

Thomas did his best to look meek, remorseful and despondent. In a small voice laced thick with anguish he asked Mr Carson gently if they might leave the conversation until the morning.

_[Oh come on! Like you don't know full well you have to be a brown haired girl or a carrot haired boy to get any sympathy or humanity out of Carson…]_

It didn't work.

'Mr Barrow, you will explain yourself IMMEDIATELY!' Shouted Carson, clearly angry enough to disregard the need for quiet at such a late hour (or the crowd of male staff blatantly listening just outside the partially ajar door).

Despite his current loathing for his own mind (as a key contributing factor in getting him into the damned situation in the first place), Thomas had to admit that having a brain like his did have it's advantages.

Almost instantaneously at Carson's angry words, an array of mini get-out-clauses began to swim through his thoughts. He paused as long as he dared to allow them to slot into something resembling a coherent order before looking up to meet Carson's gaze.

'Mr Carson, James and I were arguing about the ramifications of Alfred's….display…earlier on today.' Thomas spoke quietly, causing Carson to take a few steps towards him to catch his words. Thomas was very conscious of the eavesdroppers, and hoped that when Carson's anger abated that he would applaud Thomas's attempts at discretion (assuming the explanation that he gave was sufficient to convince Carson to postpone flaying him open with a horse-whip in the meantime…). 'You know how much the subject distresses James, and how he is easily led to behave in an….  _uncharacteristic_  manner when the subject is broached. He said some unkind things to me tonight…. I'm sorry to say that I replied in kind. As it would appear that you and the rest of them…' Thomas indicated towards the door with a jerk of his head. '….overheard.'

_Blame Alfred…check._

_Appear kind and understanding in the face of adversity….check._

_Present oneself as the victim, not the aggressor…check._

_Commute the subject of the screaming row into something understandable and defensible…check._

'So you're saying, essentially, that you had an argument stemming from James's anger at being once again involuntarily associated with your…particular lifestyle.' Carson looked intensely relieved.

_Oh…of course, pardon me and my 'lifestyle' for causing offence…no need to blame the loud mouthed prick that shouted about my (and by extension, this household's) private business in front of a room full of strangers…no, this is entirely MY fault of course._

Thomas's anger was soothed somewhat by the fact that Carson seemed to be buying his explanation, although he was having a hard time dealing with the relief on Carson's face at that particular moment.

_You thought I'd touched him…you thought he didn't want me to, but I touched him._

_You think I'm a pervert…an abuser…I think, you think, I'm a rapist._

_You genuinely think I would try that… you and Alfred both._

_You absolute bastards._

'Yes, Mr Carson. That is what caused the argument.' Thomas said humbly.

'And James will corroborate your story that the commotion was caused by an argument and….' Carson sniffed nervously before continuing. '…nothing more.'

_Fuck. You._

'He will Mr Carson. And I would like to say that I am extremely sorry about all of this. It's just that…we have all been rushed off our feet these past few weeks, James and I haven't had a moment to escape from each other and things just got very tense and uncomfortable…. and with minding all the extra staff…' Thomas raised his voice up to a more normal talking volume, sincerely hoping the crowd at the door were still listening. '..well, it's been a nightmare as you know. They just don't train people as well in other households as they do in Downton and I think I speak for all of us when I say we can't wait to see the back of them.'

_Regain at least a tiny bit of ground with regards to authority and personal dignity…check._

Carson nodded in agreement at Thomas's sentiment regarding the visiting staff.

_Check. Mate._

'Right…' Said Mr Carson. 'We will leave this matter for the present until the Christmas guests have departed.' Thomas relaxed slightly, but Carson's expression remained stern. 'When that time comes, I propose that you and I have a strong talk with Alfred…'

_Well, that's a nice surprise…_

'…but be aware that if a solution cannot be found for the animosity between yourself, Alfred and James then the matter will be referred to his Lordship.'

_Good thing…bad thing…?_

_[Who bloody knows, just be glad you've somehow survived tonight.]_

To his relief, Thomas was finally able to stand up and offer Carson a slight bow.

'I understand, Mr Carson.'

Carson regarded him sternly before turning to leave the room. At the sound of his approaching footsteps a scuffling in the corridor clearly heralded the dispersal of several people from outside the door.

Thomas smirked a little in spite of himself, but his merriment was short lived.

His mind betrayed him again. He was suddenly consumed by an all-encompassing flash-back of Jimmy's skin, scent and sounds precisely as they had appeared beneath him at that brief moment where he had  _almost_ ….

_GOD. MOTHERFUCKING. DAMNIT!_

_Do NOT go there right now…you are FORBIDDEN. Do you hear me? FORBIDDEN!_

Across the corridor Jimmy was not faring much better, but unlike Thomas he did not have the option of allowing his body some harsh 'self abuse' to release the cavalcade of frustrations and tensions. Geoffrey had kept staring at him like some kind of scientific curiosity before eventually falling asleep, and now (despite the sonorous breathing) was only in a light state of slumber and kept stirring at the slightest noise from Jimmy at the other side of the room.

If Jimmy was  _absolutely_  sure that he was going to be fired in the morning, then he would have seriously considered disregarding Geoffrey's presence and just going for it.

But part of him hoped that Thomas would once again shield him from trouble (if he was honest, Jimmy was pretty damn certain he would). So he was doing his best to get through the night with as little fuss as possible, although Geoffrey had endeavored to make that rather hard.

When Geoffrey had asked him earlier whether or not Alfred's story was true, Jimmy had responded with appropriate amusement and informed him that Alfred was merely resentful of Mr Barrow (and of his own promotion to First Footman)…nothing more.

When he had asked what had happened in the room to cause Thomas to throw him out, Jimmy immediately concocted a cock-and-bull tale about Mr Barrow being incredibly offended at the talk earlier that night and that they had gotten into an argument about it when he tried to take his anger out on him…nothing more.

_At least that seemed to satisfy his curiosity…He's probably pissing himself over getting rebuked by Mr Carson for HIS role in the argument._

As they both got into their beds, Geoffrey reproached Jimmy for not bothering to make up the spare bed properly for sleeping (just throwing the sheets over it in a tangled mass).

He then reproached Jimmy for his response, which contained an inordinately large amount of obscene words.

Jimmy told him to go to hell.

Geoffrey reminded Jimmy that he ought to be grateful for being allowed to share a room with him.

Jimmy pointed out that the room was in fact  _his_.

Geoffrey shut up.

But, to Jimmy's frustration, continued to be present.

_This is ridiculous…_

In the light of the dawn beginning to break through the windows, Jimmy's fingers remained curled into the fabric below the waistband of his pyjamas.

_Damnit…maybe I could just…_

Almost as if in answer, Geoffrey turned over in his sleep to make his presence felt.


	39. Chapter 39

Jimmy felt decidedly sorry for himself when he returned to Thomas's room to get his clothes the next morning and found that Thomas had already left to begin work. Berating himself for how things had turned out (although not quite sure why), Jimmy began the task of transporting his possessions back across the corridor.

The next evening Thomas noted the absence of Jimmy's personal effects and the stripped bed, which suddenly seemed more like a mausoleum than a piece of furniture, with a pang of regret.

As the week wore on, things at Downton began to significantly improve for the majority of the staff in the run up to the Servant's Ball. This was partly due to the speedy exit of the Grentons following the fight, which also took away two of the surplus Valets. The departure of the Hartfords two days later was an even bigger improvement, removing Valet Geoffrey (allowing Jimmy to finally have some much needed 'alone time') and Lady's Maid Hetty (without whom, Tilda suddenly became infinitely more personable). Rosamund and her maid had departed the day afterwards (piquing Violet's interest that she may in fact have a new 'gentleman friend' in London), further thinning the herd.

With each successive departure the Downton staff (not to mention the Crawleys) felt their souls becoming lighter, and all were eagerly counting down to the Servant's Ball as a marker by which to measure the close of the festive season.

Unfortunately, the improved and docile mood downstairs made the increasingly strange behavior of both Thomas and Jimmy all that more noticeable.

The sullen mood that had dogged Thomas for the past few months, and the petulant grump that Jimmy had been increasingly displaying over the festive season (as Thomas had become progressively more depressed and prone to anger), had given way.

Now they both appeared to be permanently hyperactive. Walking on egg-shells, eyes darting about, prone to jumping at just about everything and, the most noticeable and troubling of all, very very clumsy. It wasn't the sort of clumsiness that led to breakages (or food in the Dowager's lap). Rather, it was the sort that led continuously to things  _almost_  being dropped but then quickly recovered, to  _almost_  stumbling but managing to somehow remain upright, to beginning sentences that  _almost_  became inappropriate but then quickly segued into more innocent territory.

Mr Carson put it down to both men fearing the consequences of the talk that he and Thomas had yet to have about the commotion on New Year's night, but more than a few members of staff were unsatisfied by the explanation (for various reasons ranging from people suspecting Thomas had assaulted Jimmy…again, to those who thought…if they hadn't known better, of course….that it looked like the two were dancing round each other like two nervous young lovers).

The problem for Thomas and Jimmy was that the New Year's night had provided just a little too much of a taster of exactly what each of them had been missing. Neither had been in a position to  _enjoy_ themselves with another person for years. So despite being utterly unable to approach one another due to residual shame and anger from that night, they were both absolutely burning.

Logic, emotions, morals and pride were temporarily annihilated whenever they came into close contact with one another. The air became electrically charged and involuntary mental images of  _having_  the other man, in whatever circumstances happened to be present at the time (Mrs Patmore's worktop, Carson's desk, the back staircase, the upstairs dining table with the entire of the Crawley family present…), could be dismissed only by one or both of them making a hasty retreat.

Thomas did his best not to watch Jimmy at the Servant's Ball when the time finally rolled around.

He failed.

He had heard the tale of Jimmy cutting in when Alfred was attempting to learn the foxtrot from Daisy, and was very curious to see him in action. He was certainly not disappointed.

He found Jimmy's dancing style to be precise, authoritative…

_Practiced…._

_[NO…seriously NO]_

Thomas did his best to occupy himself with the Dowager and the Crawley sisters, but found himself standing idle and alone a lot longer than usual. He was loath to approach any of the downstairs girls for a dance, highly suspecting that Alfred would feel compelled to punch him on principle if he did, and noted a little ruefully that Jimmy had no such impediments to his enjoyment of the evening.

Mrs Hughes had just taken pity on him and gently suggested he take her for a waltz when there was a shout from the side of the dance floor.

Thomas glanced over.

_Oh, the poor bugger…_

Clearly he wasn't the only one still suffering from the disastrous New Year's Eve.

Across the room, Wilfred had apparently taken it upon himself to first get stinking drunk (something Thomas and the rest of those present had been peripherally noting throughout the evening) and then keel over in the most undignified manner possible. Clearly Helen Peterson was a rather hard girl to forget.

Thomas turned his attention back to Mrs Hughes, but was rapidly interrupted by Carson.

'Mr Barrow, take Lord Greenwood up to his room immediately and assess his condition. If you feel medical attention is required then telephone Dr Clarkson from the hallway…discretely. If not, then see that he is put to bed.' Carson whispered quickly. He needn't have bothered to whisper, the entire room was well aware of the smartly-dressed young man currently lying face down on the polished floor.

At times like this, Thomas wished his younger self had just sucked it up and not undertaken medical training.

He crossed the room, and felt a little better at the 'my hero' facial expressions displayed on the faces of some of the women present.

_Not often my presence gets appreciated._

As he went to hook an arm under Wilfred's body to raise him up a familiar voice suddenly spoke beside him.

'Mr Barrow, might I be of assistance?' Jimmy crouched down next to him.

Temporarily stunned into silence, Thomas rapidly recovered.

'Yes, Thank you James.'

Thomas could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall bearing into his back as he and Jimmy moved to transport Wilfred up to the bachelor's corridor. Thankfully, everyone seemed far more concerned with sympathy (or merriment) at Wilfred's plight and didn't seem to notice the way that Thomas and Jimmy were absolutely refusing to make eye contact with one another while maneuvering him.

Wilfred was passed out asleep, snoring very loudly, by the time they got him back to his room. Thomas decided (based on very minimal examination) that he was unlikely to choke on his own vomit and that if there had been a blow to the head there was nothing he could do about it (and any re-jigging of Wilfred's brain would most likely be an improvement).

Jimmy followed Thomas's lead wordlessly as he began to remove Wilfred's outer clothing. Thomas stayed silent too, unwilling to be the first one to speak.

They began to tidy away the garments.

Completely by chance they both reached for the discarded shoes at the same time, their eyes meeting as they both crouched to the floor.

They stayed that way for a while. Nervously eyeing one another like animals sizing their opponent up before a fight.

'Can we talk?' Said Jimmy, finally.

Thomas unconsciously bit his lip as he considered.

'Finish up here, then meet me in the Blue Room. The one past the storage closets.' Thomas said, rising from the floor as Jimmy responded with a nod.

When Jimmy eventually made his way down the corridor he knocked quietly on the door to the Blue Room.

'Who is it?' Said Thomas's voice.

'It's me.' He replied.

Thomas invited him to come in. The room hadn't been emptied after the decision to move the Hartford's into the Duke's old guest bedroom, so looked quite homely with the soft furnishings in place. Thomas had got a fire going in the grate while he had been attending to Wilfred and was sitting crouched by it, looking quite foreboding as the dancing flame-light licked across his pale face.

'Sorry about that, had to make sure it was you. The way my lucks been going lately…' Thomas gave a bitter smirk. 'Anyway, as you know, this room is out of use at present and the others think we are with Wilfred.' Thomas's voice sounded strangely disjointed, as though he were going through the motions of speaking with his mind somewhere else entirely. 'So we can talk here.'

'Thank you!' Jimmy said earnestly, the blank 'footman's expression' falling away to one of relief. 'I know that I have cause so much trouble for you, but I very much wanted a chance to say that….'

Thomas made no attempt to hear a word he said. Rising from his place by the fire he made short work of crossing the room. He pushed Jimmy up against the wood of the door by his shoulders and silenced him with a rough kiss. Jimmy gasped, more in surprise than arousal, but made no move to extract himself.

Thomas ran his left hand off Jimmy's shoulder and down his arm, before reaching for the key in the door, without breaking contact with Jimmy's lips.

At the sound of the key turning in the lock, Jimmy drew back from Thomas (no mean feat, sandwiched as he was between Thomas and the door) and searched his eyes carefully. The answering look would have had him on his knees in the middle of the Servant's Ball, had Thomas desired it.

'Talk later…?' Jimmy said with a slight shrug, the statement was designed for comic effect rather than utility, the situation suddenly having become far too heated to tackle head on.

Thomas nodded slowly, dragging Jimmy closer by the lapels on his jacket.

Jimmy was a little shocked at the unfamiliar feeling of fear that suddenly rose in his chest.

_[Oh come on, it's not like you haven't done this before…_

_…a ridiculously large amount of times.]_

Resting their forehead's together to maintain contact, Thomas began to work his way through Jimmy's clothes. Unable to do anything other than breath heavily for a few moments, Jimmy eventually reciprocated. He reached with shaky hands to slip Thomas's tie out of it's knot, but by the time he had gotten to pulling the braces off Thomas's shoulders he had quite recovered his confidence (and enthusiasm).

Neither particularly wanted to spoil the momentum by pointing out that the bed was off limits (explaining mysteriously dirty linen would add an unnecessary layer of complication) but it was a truth silently accepted.

Kicking off shoes and socks onto the rapidly increasing pile of clothing, they moved over to the hearth.

They both sank to the floor, but Thomas took the initiative first. With the minimum of fumbling he had Jimmy's trousers and undergarments off. Letting out a sound akin to a growl in appreciation, he pushed Jimmy onto his back and sank his entire body onto him.

Thomas berated himself for a moment for not having taken the time to properly undress himself from the waist down before 'assuming the position'. But, as Jimmy's naked thighs slid up against the fabric of his trousers and around his hips, Thomas had to admit it did add a certain  _something_  to the experience.

He dipped his head and gave a teasing lick to Jimmy's lips before crushing their mouths together once again, pushing Jimmy into the floor. There were suddenly nails at his back, tracing pathways that were just on the right side of painful. Thomas murmured in appreciation, savoring each sensation.

Beneath him, Jimmy wasn't feeling quite so good. He'd thought he had gotten a handle on his discomfort while engaged in the agreeable task of partially de-clothing Thomas, but the feelings had returned with a vengeance and were growing stronger the longer Thomas lingered.

Jimmy could understand everything (or at least, thought he could) about why someone would enjoy penetrating someone, that was simple, a clear act with a well defined goal. But the kissing, the touching…that was just meant as a prelude, surely?

_And I don't need that…I'm used to this type of thing already…_

As Thomas moved to nuzzle at his throat, Jimmy extracted a hand from Thomas's back and started sucking on his fingers ( _Time to move things along_ ). When Thomas realised what he was doing he smiled and shook his head, maneuvered to grasp both Jimmy's hands above his head (securing them with a single hand on the floor) and started to trace his tongue down to Jimmy's chest.

Jimmy squirmed.

_This is just…. awkward._

Thomas was soon obliged to let go of Jimmy's hands again in order to move further down his body. Jimmy replaced his hands on Thomas's back.

_What the hell am I supposed to do?_

As Thomas reached Jimmy's hip bone he noticed that the nails pressing into his shoulders had begun to sink in uncomfortably deep, but assumed that this signaled approval from Jimmy rather than an unsubtle hint that he was not enjoying the festivities.

He went to move lower.

Jimmy panicked.

_No, I don't want that…any of it…why won't he just fuck me? He's the one who bloody started it this time!_

'Can we just get on with it!' Jimmy blurted out.

Thomas stopped abruptly and looked up at him with a bleak expression (a startling contrast to the wicked and jovial demeanor of a few seconds previous).

'Get on with what Jimmy?' He asked in an utterly flat voice.

'You…being inside me.' Said Jimmy with an attempted laugh.

'Am I not allowed to appreciate you first?'

'You'd appreciate me a lot more if you'd just hurry up and fuck me.' Before he even spoke Jimmy could tell from Thomas's expression that he'd made a fatal misstep and his frustration at the rapid approach of yet another argument made Jimmy's tone of voice cold and harsh.

A slight twitch in Thomas's jaw showed that his internal reaction was even more vicious than the glare he briefly fixed on Jimmy before rolling off him to lie on his back beside him.

'I suppose we should have had that talk first after all…' Said Thomas, without any hint of humor.

_Oh for GOD'S SAKE!_

'You can't keep doing this to me!' Said Jimmy, sitting up and struggling to get his breathing back under control. 'You bloody can't!'

'It's not what I'm doing! It's what you're doing to yourself. That's why I can't….' Thomas swept his eyes along Jimmy's side. 'I'm not comfortable with it. It feels wrong.'

'What am I doing wrong?' Jimmy hugged his knees to his chest, shielding his nudity in a more symbolic than practical way. 'I'm offering you everything I have to give, how is that not enough for you?'

'Believe me, I am very grateful that you want to. It's just, I can't get over…..I just can't believe you treat your own body like that. Like nothing but a tool for a purpose. You treat yourself like shit.'

'Why? Because I asked you to hurry up and fuck me, to get your dick inside me? Forgive me if I misread the signs, but that seemed to be the activity you were angling for!' Jimmy bit back.

Thomas sat up and regarded Jimmy with pensive eyes. Jimmy grew uncomfortable under Thomas's gaze, but resolved that he was absolutely  _finished_  talking to him.

He eagerly awaited Thomas storming out in his inevitable huff so that he could get dressed in peace.

_And make damn sure to NEVER go down this road with him again…_

He flinched back when he felt Thomas's hand brush along his jaw, but the touch was surprisingly gentle.

As Thomas moved in to press a light kiss to his lips Jimmy allowed it.

_Oh well, one last kiss…how romantic…_

When Thomas lifted his own hips to maneuver out of his trousers and undergarments, Jimmy was shocked (but pleasantly surprised) to say the least.

Jimmy knew his facial expression must be somewhat comical at that moment, raised eyebrows and everything, but Thomas seemed to have lost the passionate confidence of earlier and merely smiled back.

Thomas kissed Jimmy again, still lightly and closed mouthed. In spite of himself, Jimmy found that one of his hands had strayed to run up Thomas's leg as they continued to sit side by side.

Jimmy could tell that Thomas was suddenly hesitant, though to what end he had no idea.

Finally, Thomas pushed Jimmy to move closer to the fire, keeping a firm grip on his arm and waist.

Thomas lay back on the rug and pulled Jimmy to lie on top of him, tentatively spreading his legs to bracket Jimmy's hips with his thighs.

'Get it in then.' Said Thomas flatly.

Jimmy reacted as though electrocuted. Raising himself onto his arms, keeping a good few inches between his skin and Thomas's, he shook his head.

'No!' Jimmy exclaimed.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, projecting much more confidence than he felt (internally his body screamed in protest at being laid quite so open in the presence of another person). 'And why might that be?' Said Thomas in mock ignorance.

'I can't just do that to you…just like that! It'll hurt you! And you've never done it before. You don't know what it is you're asking for! You have no idea!'

Thomas smiled a little ( _NOW we are getting somewhere_ ). 'So, what you're saying is that you won't…because you're worried about abusing my trust. You're worried about hurting me, about taking advantage.'

'Well…yes!' Said Jimmy, still poised above Thomas holding his body weight up on both arms.

Thomas raised both eyebrows this time and looked at him sternly.

_Come on Jimmy, engage brain…_

'Oh…' Said Jimmy in a small voice. He met Thomas's eyes somewhat reluctantly. 'Point taken. Yes… you have most definitely made your point…'

Jimmy moved to get up off of Thomas, but found his progress stilled by a firm grip on his wrist.

'I think it would be beneficial to see this lesson through to the end…don't you?' Said Thomas.

Jimmy stared at him, wide-eyed.

'You're  _actually_  serious?'

'Yes.' Said Thomas, more than a little surprised at the conviction of his own reply.

With an earthy sigh, Jimmy allowed his weight to collapse onto Thomas.

He took a long time to ravish Thomas's mouth, and to relish the fact that their skin could finally touch completely unimpeded, before shifting his focus to the matter at hand.

Moving a little away, both men moaning at the temporary loss of contact, he set about moistening his fingers with his tongue under the intense gaze of Thomas before lowering them between his legs.

'Sure you don't want to change your mind?' Said Jimmy, circling the pad of his forefinger dangerously close to Thomas's entrance.

Thomas gave a brisk shake of the head, and appeared to be mentally steeling himself.

Bending back down to kiss him, Jimmy began to attend to the task of opening Thomas up. Initially Thomas was fairly passive, and for a while even looked ashamed of himself and the situation, but Jimmy persevered.

He recognised the instant that Thomas's breathing changed to reflect his growing appreciation for the friction and stretching and was further encouraged when Thomas began, unconsciously at first, to roll his hips in response to the movements of his fingers.

They had both begun to sweat and breathe heavily in anticipation for the act that was to come, but Jimmy still felt he had to check one final time.

'Thomas…Last chance to back out.' He said with a hint of merriment, but meeting Thomas's eyes with an expression that conveyed the unmistakable message that it would be perfectly ok if Thomas chose to do so.

'No, I want you…and this.' Came the, very welcome, reply.

Jimmy extracted his fingers and guided himself into position.

'Sorry about this!' He said quietly, as he raised his spare hand to cover Thomas's mouth as he pushed inside.

It wasn't quite a scream, more of an anguished howl, but it cut Jimmy to the bone nonetheless despite being muffled by his hand.

Partially seated inside Thomas, Jimmy stopped moving. He released his hold on Thomas's mouth.

Thomas's breathing was shallow and his eyes had begun to water.

'You need to relax, Thomas.' He said softly, brushing away a tear from Thomas's cheek with his thumb as he stroked the side of his face. 'Please relax.'

Thomas's breathing remained shallow and anguished.

Jimmy carefully moved his face closer to Thomas's and whispered to him. 'I can stop. You don't need to do this now… Nothing could make me love you more than I already do.'

_Where the hell did THAT come from?_

Thomas pulled him down for a kiss, despite the added strain it caused given their relative positions, and for the first time that evening Jimmy was absolutely certain that he was _exactly_  where he wanted to be.

Upon releasing his hold on Jimmy's neck Thomas gave him the simple instruction. 'Move'.

Jimmy complied.

Out of necessity it was  _very_  slow going at first, but Jimmy was far far too busy marveling at the previously unknown pleasures of penetrating someone to care. Eventually, Thomas's hips became more responsive.

Both men began to slowly give over any attempt at dignity or self control and settled into a frantic and punishing rhythm.

Jimmy rapidly became quite unable to speak, and found Thomas's continued ability to demand 'More' something of a tempting challenge.

He had previously discounted the idea of hooking Thomas's legs over his shoulders to allow him to get in deeper (having spent many nights in that position himself, and knowing just how uncomfortable it could be if the  _mood_ was not adequate), but at Thomas's incessant orders to increase both the pressure and the depth he went for it.

Thomas's surprised expression as he switched the position warmed his heart ( _Such an innocent.._.) while simultaneously firing his loins into actions perhaps a bit more vigorous than strictly appropriate. With Thomas's hips now effectively immobilized it put all the control into Jimmy's court, and he had to admit…

_God, a bloke could get used to this!_

He kept careful watch on Thomas, expecting him to find the added depth and changed angle too much to handle, but he saw nothing other than sweat slicked abandon from the man lying beneath him.

Thomas's orgasm gave almost as much pleasure to Jimmy as it did to himself, the muscular contractions and accompanying feral cries being the final push that Jimmy needed to get to the 'point of no return' himself. Although he somehow managed to hang in there for a few more minutes, absolutely refusing to let the connection with Thomas go until he absolutely had to.

He and Thomas were both reduced to delirious (and very sweaty) wrecks when Jimmy finally collapsed, utterly spent.

Jimmy lay with his head on Thomas's chest, at that moment wanting nothing more than to stay listening to the racing heartbeat, surrounded by that gorgeous musky scent.


	40. Chapter 40

'We should probably get moving.' Murmured Thomas, making no attempt to remove the hand he had resting on the back of Jimmy's head. He felt Jimmy nodding in agreement against his chest.

'We really should.' Jimmy purred, making no move to extract himself.

They were completely still for at least another ten minutes.

As the fire in the grating died from crackles down to low hissing embers, the music drifting through the Abbey from the servant's ball became more noticeable.

Thomas inclined his head to bury his nose in Jimmy's hair, before drawing back and removing the arm he had wrapped around him. 'Come on…I should report to Mr Carson about Greenwood or he'll come looking for me.'

Jimmy groaned in disapproval. Turned his head to rest his chin on Thomas's chest he fixed him with an accusatory gaze.

'I'm serious, Jimmy.' Thomas said, although he couldn't quite resist raising his hand again to trace a finger down the curve of Jimmy's spine.

With an exaggerated huff, Jimmy raised himself up on to his arms and climbed off Thomas. He sat next to him with his elbows resting on his knees.

'You're never going to Mr Carson like this…' He said to Thomas with a snort, looking down at the state he was in.

'Well I was intending to get dressed first!' Said Thomas as he began to test his limbs, finding himself a little more stiff and sore than anticipated due to the combination of the hardwood floor under the rug and Jimmy's earlier attentions.

'It's not just how you look… you're smelling pretty ripe too.' Said Jimmy with a smirk.

Thomas gasped in mock outrage and gave Jimmy a smart slap on the upper arm. 'You're not exactly roses yourself right now.'

Jimmy laughed and hopped up off the floor to begin collecting his clothes. Picking up each discarded item in turn he tossed those not belonging to him over to where Thomas lay on his side by the fire.

'I'm in a better state than you!' He said with a smile, drawing his shirt around his shoulders. 'And on another, slightly related, topic…I am sorry about…Well, I just got a bit carried away.'

Thomas stared back at him blankly.

Jimmy ran a hand thorough his hair before turning his attention to getting back into his trousers. 'I just didn't mean to…' Jimmy indicated towards Thomas. 'in…you.'

Thomas furrowed his brow. 'Where the hell else would you do it?'

'I just mean I'm sorry for sticking you with most of the clean-up, that's all!' Said Jimmy, with an awkward smile.

Thomas gave a wry laugh.

'Bloody hell, this is romantic stuff.' He said, finally pulling himself into a sitting position and reaching for the pile of clothes that had gathered next to him.

'Welcome to the shameful truth.' Jimmy laughed back. 'There's a reason why the wedding night has such an aura of mystique.'

'Oh…' Thomas suddenly screwed his face up in disgust, the clothes forgotten. 'Thanks for that…Now all I can think about is Bates getting his end away…!'

'Great, now I have to suffer too!' Said Jimmy, nudging Thomas in the back with the tip of his foot.

Taking a moment to dispel the highly unwanted image from his head, Jimmy started working on his tie.

'Ok, here's what we are going to do.' He said. 'I'll go down and report to Carson at the ball, give him some noise about how we had to struggle to get Lord Greenwood into bed and tell him that you had to go and clean yourself up.'

Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow, still sitting naked by the fireplace. 'Clean myself up…?'

'Yes.' Said Jimmy, swinging his blazer round his shoulders as the final touch to his outfit. 'Because Greenwood vomited over you, of course!'

Thomas's face broke into a wide grin. 'And the romance continues…'

'I'll come and see you when I'm done.' Said Jimmy, with an apologetic look. 'You could probably use a few tips on...things.' He said, with slightly rueful glance down at Thomas's disheveled state.

Thomas nodded, reaching into the pile of clothes to locate his undergarments. 'Thank you Jimmy.'

Jimmy ducked down quickly to his side on the floor. Thomas shut his eyes for a second at the feeling of Jimmy's lips pressed against his forehead.

'See you later.' Said Jimmy quickly, before making a hasty exit.


	41. Chapter 41

'Thomas, are you in there?' Jimmy stood at Thomas's bedroom door, head inclined towards the wood to listen for a reply.

The answering noise was a series of scuffles, finally ending with the appearance of a partially dressed Thomas in a partially open doorway.

'Sorry, I'm still in the middle of things.' Said Thomas, wrapping his unbuttoned shirt across his stomach like a shield. 'Just waiting for the water to….oh!' He spied the two large metal buckets in Jimmy's hands.

'Hot water from the kitchens, Mrs Patmore said I could bring you up some to help with sorting out the mess Wilfred made.' Said Jimmy with a devilish smile. 'I'm afraid this is as romantic as it gets…I don't have a spare hand for roses at the minute.'

Thomas's face creased up as he broke into a snorting laugh. Jimmy felt his own grin broaden in response.

'May I come in?' He said with a slight bow.

Thomas pushed the door open further and motioned him inside.

A few floors down, a few corridors across, and a world away in terms of opulence and facilities, Robert's night-time routine was coming to an end. With his nightclothes on and a book in hand he gently knocked before entering the bedroom, the part of the night-time routine he liked best was sitting up waiting for him.

She raised an amused eyebrow at his expression of mock exhaustion.

'I know what you are going to say, Robert.' Said Cora with a wry smile, in the middle of smothering her pale hands in lavender scented cream.

Setting the book on the bedside table, Robert flopped down on top of the bedcovers without removing his dressing gown.

'Never again!' Said Robert, for the thousandth time in just under two weeks.

'I won't deny that I will watch the last of them go tomorrow morning with more than a hint of relief!' Said Cora with a giggle.

Robert raised a hand to rest on his forehead. 'Remind me, why did I think it was a good idea to invite that tiresome lot in the first place?'

'Hmmm…' Cora replaced the top on the jar of cream and switched off the lamp on her side of the bed before continuing. 'I do believe it was something about wanting to relive the good old days….' She slid across to where Robert lay and ran a soothing hand over his own as she placed a kiss on the top of his head.

Robert's face relaxed, suddenly the vision of contentment.

'It' strange you know.' Said Robert. 'If you had told me years ago that I would one day host a gathering that would involve death and injury to some of the highest nobles in the country I think I would have died of shock. Fearful of the resulting scandal and censure from the rest of high-society.'

'And now…?' Cora's breath tickled Robert's scalp pleasantly as she spoke.

'Now…' Robert shrugged a little, rustling the silken bedclothes. 'Now I find, more and more, that 'society' isn't as I recall it. I wonder if it ever  _was_  what I though it to be, something solid and perfect, something to aspire to be a part of. I sometimes wonder if any of the people I admired for that were truly worthy of it.' He muttered bitterly.

Cora withdrew her hand, at something of a loss for how to respond. They were both silent for a moment.

She was pleasantly surprised when Robert roused himself up into a sitting position and looked at her warmly.

'You know, I think sometimes that the only opinions that truly matter are those of the occupants of this house.' He said with a reassuring smile. '…Perhaps just the occupants of this room.' He said, running a gentle hand down the lace sleeve of Cora's night gown.

'My wonderful, wonderful wife.'

Cora noted with astonishment that Robert seemed close to tears, something which caused her own eyes to threaten to water.

'Whatever happens in this life, you will always have me to cling to, my darling.' She said, enveloping him in a soft hug.

Robert clutched her tightly back in response, burying his head into the loose silky plait of hair running over her shoulder.

Up on the servant's corridor, Jimmy and Thomas sat side by side in front of the fireplace in Thomas's room, surrounded by disorganised clothes, cloths, soap suds and more than a few patches of spilt water.

Jimmy was still in his suit, resolved to take care of his own cleaning once back in the safety of his room, while Thomas sat wrapped in a thin white towel that left very little to the imagination.

Not that Jimmy  _had_  to use his imagination any more.

'What…?' Said Thomas, having caught Jimmy glancing at him with a pointed look.

'I was just having a strange sense of déjà vu. Only this time, our roles are reversed…' He said with a suggestive look towards the flesh on display to his left. 'You know, you and me…me without clothes…sitting by this fire. How the hell  _did_ you manage to resist me?'

'It's this thing called self control.' Thomas teased. 'And right now you'd best display some. I think I'm going to need a week to recover after earlier tonight!'

Jimmy gave an exaggerated humph of displeasure, but contented himself by making Thomas writhe a little under his hungry gaze.

Suddenly his expression shifted. 'Thomas….' He said nervously. 'Would you mind if I touch your hair?'

'What…?' Thomas said incredulously, not entirely sure if he had heard right.

'Your hair. I was just wondering what it feels like with that pomade stuff washed out of it.'

'Oh…ok.' Thomas said, still eyeing Jimmy skeptically.

He watched as Jimmy raised a tentative hand to the damp strands of hair across his forehead. Jimmy ran a single tendril between his finger and thumb, separating out the individual hairs, before immersing his fingers entirely in the thick black mane and gently drawing them through.

While the sensation was not entirely unpleasant, Thomas found himself preoccupied with watching Jimmy's mouth. Lost in what he was doing, his tongue had snaked out over his upper lip and as it withdrew Thomas couldn't help but lean in to taste the sheen of saliva it left behind.

With an appreciative moan, Jimmy tightened his hold on Thomas's hair as he leaned in further to respond.

Someone wrapped loudly on the door.

They sprang apart.

_Fuck!_

In a split seconds worth of inspiration Jimmy grabbed Thomas's discarded shirt and stumbled quickly over to the door, somehow managing to get a hand out to halt it's progress as the door began to swing open.

'James, what on earth are  _you_  doing here?' Carson's eyes widened in shock as Jimmy appeared in the doorway.

'Mrs Patmore had me bring up some hot water for Mr Barrow, and I thought since I was doing a wash tomorrow I thought I ought to offer to do his shirt along with mine.' Jimmy brandished the crumpled shirt in his hand, doing his best to keep his expression easy and pleasant (and not in any way suspicion inducing). 'I just came by to pick it up.' He concluded.

Carson blinked in surprise and gave a nod of approval. 'That is…very good of you James.'

Jimmy smiled in response.

He noticed Mr Carson's gaze travelling to something behind him, and was exceptionally glad to see a pyjama clad Thomas behind him in the doorframe. With a small sigh of relief, Jimmy stepped out into the corridor and headed for his bedroom.

'Ah, Mr Barrow. I wondered if there was any additional news on Lord Greenwood?' Said Carson.

'No, Mr Carson. He will most likely have a very thick head in the morning…but I don't think any worse harm was done.' Said Thomas, ruefully watching Jimmy disappear into his own room out of the corner of his eye.


	42. Chapter 42

Thomas slept well that night (eventually) after he was done tossing and turning in bed each time his mind replayed a little of the Blue Room activities, prompting him to grin to himself like a lunatic. And now, as he stood to attention by the breakfast service trays the next morning, he internalised that same grin every time his mind deigned to remind him just how much had changed in the last twenty four hours. His eyes, which lately had been more given to appearing as a muddy pond rather than the crisp pale sky they  _could_  be, were wide open and shining.

Not that any of the assembled family noticed.

The Crawleys (and honorary Crawley) all looked rather worse for wear over the breakfast table in the harsh morning light. Nowhere near what Thomas imagined Wilfred must have looked like while being pushed into a car with his dad half an hour earlier, but still quite gruesome. Clearly the promise of finally having an empty house, coupled with the knowledge that they still had to get through the entire servant's ball, had led them to (consciously or otherwise) accept more refills than they would perhaps deem appropriate under other circumstances.

'Well this is rather pleasant, isn't it?' Said Robert with a warm smile, cutting through the silence. 'The peace…'

For a moment there was no sound from the others except the scraping of silver across plates as they continued to tend to their breakfasts, their eyes fixed on their respective meals.

'…and the quiet.' Finished Robert, glancing round at Matthew, Tom and Edith before turning his attention back to his own plate.

With a clink, Edith placed her cutlery down on the table and cleared her throat. The three men looked up with surprise.

'I do hope this experience hasn't put you off of admitting guests entirely Papa?' She said, speaking as though in jest but with a distinct air of hope in her eyes.

'Oh…?' Said Robert, bringing his coffee cup to his lips rapidly (having a feeling he was going to need it).

'Well, I wondered if I might extend an invitation to Michael Gregson, my editor. I believe he has been hoping to make your acquaintance for some time.'

From his vantage point Thomas couldn't help but gloat slightly.

_I KNEW she had a found a man!_

The look on Edith's face was hard to mistake, prompting Thomas to remind himself to be more discrete in his own current state of ardor. Although, he noted with amusement that Robert, Matthew and Tom appeared to be entirely clueless as to the true reason that Edith's face suddenly seemed quite so glowing.

'When were you thinking of asking him? As you know, we have a large amount of work to do to put the house to rights now that the festive period is over.' Said Robert, a little more sternly than strictly required.

_Like you're going to be doing any of the actual work…_

Thomas glanced back to Edith.

_You're move, my Lady._

'I thought three days would give adequate time to have the main hallway cleared and a guest room prepared.' Said Edith brightly, clearly having anticipated impediments. 'There is something very important that he wishes to discuss with you.' She looked at Robert slyly, and made a show of turning her attention back to her breakfast as though the matter was quite settled.

Robert suddenly felt very unnerved, and a sideways glance at Matthew (whose eyebrows were raised in confusion) did nothing to help. 'Very well, three days from now.' He said reluctantly.

'What manner of person is he?' Said Tom.

Had anyone else asked the question, Edith would have (quite rightly) assumed their true aim was to gauge more about her own feelings for Gregson rather than make out the character of Gregson himself. But under Tom's guileless gaze, Edith responded warmly with a list of virtues more befitting a hero in a Brontë novel than a humble working man.

Robert and Matthew exchanged another worried look. Out of their line of sight, Thomas raised an eyebrow in amusement.

For the staff of Downton Abbey, the day was very busy. But it was a pleasant kind of busy. The kind of busy where you get to relish ripping down streamers that appear to be mocking you with their cheerfulness, the kind where you strip off the bed-sheets from guest rooms that had contained obnoxious nobles, and the kind where you get to pack away the finest of the fine crystal and silver after it's last clean for another whole year.

Aside from a brief moment of panic when he suddenly remembered that the ashes in the (unoccupied) Blue Room fireplace may cause some awkward questions, prompting him to make a quick detour to sweep them clean, Thomas found the day extremely enjoyable despite some slight mobility problems stemming from the previous night.

That is, he found the day enjoyable until Carson pointedly invited himself, Jimmy and Alfred into a meeting late that evening after dinner.

Thomas was pleasantly surprised when Carson motioned him to stand beside him on the 'other' side of the desk, facing the two footmen. It was the first time that Carson had unreservedly acknowledged his position (or showed any kind of support, for that matter). Thomas suppressed a smile, and pressed his thumbnail into the pad of his forefinger just to check that this was in fact reality.

A glance up at Alfred's face provided all the reality check he needed. In spite of everything that had happened, Thomas was taken aback by the level of loathing in Alfred's expression, staring unblinkingly back at him.

'I believe we all know why we are here.' Said Carson gruffly. 'The display on New Year's Eve was completely inappropriate…especially given the presence of outside visitors.' Carson glared at both Jimmy and Alfred in turn. They, wisely, turned their eyes to the floor and bowed their heads in a penitent manner. 'Thankfully…and I cannot quite believe I am obliged to refer to the event in this manner….the ensuing fight between the Lords Grenton and Greenwood in the upstairs Drawing Room means that even if the visiting staff are inclined to discuss such matters with their masters, it is unlikely, given their own indiscretions that night, that they would consider making anything of idle rumors…no matter how damning.' Here Carson gave an involuntary glance towards Thomas.

'So…' Carson continued. 'I believe the primary issue is to put this unpleasantness to an end, a permanent end, by whatever means necessary. We have all suffered due to the hostile relationship between yourselves..' He indicated Jimmy and Alfred. '…and Mr Barrow in these past months, and as far as I am concerned this ends now.' He shouted the last words, making all three men jump slightly.

'Yes, Mr Carson.' Said Thomas quietly. Without missing a beat, Jimmy and Alfred echoed him.

'Right, James…' Said Carson. 'Am I to surmise from your actions last night that yourself and Mr Barrow have turned something of a corner in your relationship?'

Thomas noted the slight twitch in Jimmy's jaw, and did his best to suppress his own urge to burst out laughing.

_Nice wording to choose, Mr Carson…_

'That is correct Mr Carson. From my perspective I believe any animosity from the incident…' As they were accustomed to referring to Thomas's disastrous nocturnal escapade. '…has been settled, to both Mr Barrow's satisfaction and mine.'

_Oh damn you, you little Imp!_

Thomas bit the inside of his mouth firmly to suppress an even more desperate need to laugh.

_Double entendres in front of Carson..._

_God save me!_

'Would you agree, Mr Barrow?' Said Carson, turning towards him.

Struggling to keep control of his facial expression, Thomas eventually managed to choke out a reply. 'Yes, Mr Carson. I don't believe there will be any trouble between James and myself on that account in future.'

Carson nodded slowly. 'Thank you, James, you may leave us.'

With a quick reassuring glance towards Thomas, Jimmy left the office.

Alfred shifted his weight, face still full of thunder, deeply uncomfortable and (Thomas sincerely hoped) suddenly fearful for his job.

'Alfred, would you care to explain your actions at the New Year's Eve gathering?' Said Carson, his tone of voice was one of reluctant displeasure rather than anger.

_Like a father to a wayward son…._

'I am sorry, Mr Carson.' Said Alfred awkwardly.

'I'll remind you that I requested an explanation, not an apology. And, if that time does come, I would strongly advise that you include Mr Barrow in your request for forgiveness as well as myself.'

Both Thomas and Alfred stared at Mr Carson in surprise.

Thomas did his best to conceal the worst of his shock, trying to maintain an expression of cool authority. Inside he felt as though someone could have knocked him over with a feather, if they so desired.

Alfred looked as though he wished to knock him over with something considerably larger and heavier, unable to conceal his disgust at the knowledge that Carson was not only siding with Thomas but that he thought he…Alfred…an upstanding young man…should owe Thomas apology for his actions. Thomas, a degenerate who had gotten off scott-free for his own vile indiscretion.

'Alfred…?' Carson prompted him.

'I was drunk.' Said Alfred, speaking to his shoes.

'On a few sips of wine…you're going to have to do a lot better than that Alfred.' Carson said curtly.

'That bloke Geoffrey, he had a hip flask…It was strong stuff. And I suppose I was angry…' Alfred shifted his weight nervously, his freckled cheeks colouring a blotchy magenta. '…angry that Ivy didn't want to stand by me for midnight.'

Thomas suppressed a snort.

_No surprises there then…_

Although he felt a slight tugging at his heart at Alfred's distress. With that simple admission regarding Ivy, something that most boys would have casually stated over the dinner table to a listening crowd to garner sympathy, Alfred looked as though he had truly laid his soul bare on the table.

'And how precisely does Mr Barrow fit into this comedy of errors?' Said Carson impatiently.

_Well we all know he has the emotional instincts of a stone wall…_

'I was angry, I needed an outlet. I know it's no justification for how I acted. But that's…what it was.' Said Alfred awkwardly.

'I see…so your personal vendetta was not the primary factor in attempting to humiliate Mr Barrow and this household?'

'No, Mr Carson. I have no problems working with Mr Barrow now. I didn't mean to single him out and I can promise that nothing of this nature will ever happen again.'

_Bull-fucking-shit…_

Thomas's venom returned abruptly.

_And it wouldn't kill you to acknowledge my presence…. I'm standing right fucking here!_

Carson appeared unconvinced as well, and in the internal debate of Alfred versus the harmony of Downton there was only ever going to be one conclusion.

He fixed Alfred with a look full of regret before turning to Thomas.

'Well Mr Barrow, there you have it. I believe, under the circumstances, that the decision on how to proceed should rest with yourself. If you wish to terminate Alfred's employment on the basis of his hostile and indiscrete actions, then you have my full support.' Carson sank heavily into the desk chair, leaving Thomas standing across from Alfred, and turned away slightly, raising a hand to his lips to conceal an involuntary quiver.

With a volume of confidence he hadn't felt in ten years, Thomas snapped his eyes onto Alfred's.

Alfred looked suddenly like a beaten child.

Thomas could see every inch of Alfred's pride draining away as he silently begged to be allowed to stay.

Everything Alfred  _should_  have said, was suddenly there in his eyes. The apology, the regret, the submission to Thomas's authority…

Thomas was under no illusions that his capitulation was sincere… or motivated by anything other than fear of losing his position at Downton. And he made damn sure that Alfred read that awareness in his own answering gaze.

_Mercy…_

_…'it blesseth him that gives, and him that takes'…_

Thomas kept both Alfred and Carson hanging for as long as he dared, as his own personal form of revenge.

'I believe, Alfred, that this experience will serve to deter you from any such actions in the future. So I believe we can continue to work together.'

Alfred's mouth hung open in complete shock, and Carson stirred abruptly in the desk chair.

'Thank you, Mr Barrow! Thank you!' Alfred somehow choked out, looking as though he was ready to asphyxiate. 'You won't regret this, both of you.' He said, glancing down at Mr Carson.

Carson rose from the chair, clearly feeling more than a little shock (and a great deal of pleasant surprise) of his own.

'Well then, I believe that's settled.' He glanced over at Thomas, who drew back a little at the frankly terrifying spectacle of a grinning Carson.

A few minutes later Thomas found himself climbing the staircase to the servant's corridor side by side with Alfred. They walked in silence the whole time, but Thomas repeatedly glanced over at Alfred in pleasure and amusement as the latter did his best to appear meek and unhostile.

_I wonder how long that's going to last…_

When they finally reached their quarters, Thomas noted with annoyance that Jimmy had most likely already gone to bed (and that he most certainly couldn't check with Alfred standing opposite him in the corridor and Carson yet to make his own way upstairs).

'Goodnight Mr Barrow.' Said Alfred, startling him. 'And…thank you.' Thomas looked back at him in surprise, for a moment sure he was reading genuine unguarded gratitude. But the moment was soon over.

As he pushed open the door to his own room, Thomas entertained the small, childish hope that Jimmy would have snuck in earlier to wait for him. But nothing greeted him aside from the cold floorboards and Spartan furniture.


	43. Chapter 43

'Hello stranger.'

'Hello yourself.' Replied Thomas with a display of mock indifference as he took another drag on his cigarette. Internally, his innards did a violent flip of approval at Jimmy's appearance.

Jimmy walked across the yard, closing the distance between himself and Thomas, before stopping to consider.

'Hey…do you have time to take a quick walk?' He said with a purposeful glance up at the windows overlooking the yard.

'Ok.' Thomas nodded quickly, then mentally kicked himself.

_Cool it on the eagerness boyo…Have a bit of dignity!_

He cleared his throat and reset his expression before following Jimmy out of the gate towards where the side-path intersected with the route through the garden hedges.

As their perfectly polished shoes crunched over the coarse gravel, Thomas wished he hadn't spent quite so much time the previous evening practically elbow deep in shoe polish…although it had served to keep his mind off  _other_ things.

As Jimmy indicated for them to take the route through the hedges, Thomas noted that Jimmy was already shivering slightly. He had donned his own black woolen coat before stepping out for a smoke, but Jimmy clearly had no such foresight. He mused that it was understandable though. It was the kind of winter morning that looked deceptively warm and welcoming through a pane of glass, only to chill the unprepared to the bone upon venturing outside.

'Would you like my coat, Jimmy?' Said Thomas, taking his cigarette between his teeth and raising both hands up to his collar, ready to swing the coat of his shoulders if so required.

Jimmy turned to him with a face that had abruptly grown brighter than the vivid sunshine itself. He smiled broadly. 'No…No, thank you. But, thank you for offering.'

Thomas took his cigarette back between his fingers.

'What are you so happy about, it's only a coat?' He said with an amused half-frown.

'It's been two days….was worried you'd gone off me.' Said Jimmy, flicking his eyes up to meet Thomas's. 'But here you are being all gallant.' He teased.

Thomas snorted. 'I'm the one who gave up their virtue, shouldn't  _I_ be the one that's worried about being abandoned for a few days?'

'I'm freezing my bollocks off here for the chance to finally get you alone. I think that's rather gallant in itself, wouldn't you say?' Jimmy laughed.

Thomas ran his upper lip through his teeth. 'You know…you could have come to see me in my room after hours.'

'You could have come to mine.' Jimmy countered.

Thomas nodded. 'True…I suppose it's just hard to keep track of when Mr Carson turns in for the night, and when I did hear him last night it was far too late to think about disturbing you.'

Jimmy gave a great hoot of laughter before putting a hand out to halt Thomas's progress, turning to put himself in his path. 'Thomas Barrow, do you honestly believe there is any hardship…late hour or no….that I wouldn't be willing to brave for another piece of you?'

Thomas felt his cheeks grow hot despite the biting cold air. To hide his blush, he made a show of glancing around them to make sure no gardeners (or Crawleys) had appeared in the few seconds that his attention had been entirely focused on Jimmy.

Jimmy smirked, his own eyes darting to the tall hedge-rows at the south side of the next pathway. He looked back up at Thomas and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Thomas's mouth hung open for a second, but he quickly regained composure.

'You know…there is this wonderful thing called 'talking'….'

Jimmy quickly swept his gaze over the surrounding area before pressing in quickly to steal a quick (and unexpected) kiss. 'We can talk later tonight in the servant's hall. I promise!...' He said, grasping Thomas's free hand and leading him towards the grass to take the most direct route to the hidden sanctuary offered by the hedges. '…I've something else in mind for the present.'

Thomas pulled back against his grip, eyeing the muddy grass with disdain. 'What about my shoes?'

Jimmy raised an incredulous eyebrow and jerked Thomas back towards himself, and across the boundary between the stone pathway and lawn. He leaned in to whisper into his ear. 'I'll lick them clean if you so desire.' With a wicked grin he pulled Thomas across the grass. 'Come on, we can only take a few minutes.'

Thomas's eyes widened nervously. 'Are you quite sure that's enough time?' He said as Jimmy directed him to stand with his back against one of the legs of the wooden arbor once they had made their way through the hedgerow opening (the opening that admitted them to the side of the tall bushes that looked  _away_  from Downton).

'For what I've got in mind…yes!'

Jimmy whipped out a large handkerchief from his pocket and in a single smooth movement, placed it on the grass between his clothes and the crusty mud as he sunk to his knees.

'What…?' Thomas stared in surprise.

As Jimmy's hands moved to work Thomas's trousers open, realization dawned on his face.

_Oh…_

'OH!'

Thomas's head snapped back against the wooden beam at the contrast between the cold air and the furnace of Jimmy's mouth.

'OH GOD!'

Jimmy gave him a quick pinch on the hip to caution him about the noise, without ceasing the undulating motion of his tongue as he coaxed Thomas's manhood to life.

'Right…sorry!' Thomas choked out, his voice catching in his throat as he felt the back of  _Jimmy's_  throat for the first time.

'Oh God…' He whispered, pulling his hands behind his back to scratch at the wooden beam propping him up, his cigarette lying forgotten (and still burning) beside them.

Having achieved his initial goal of piquing Thomas's…interest…Jimmy rapidly settled into a rhythm involving a torturous blend of tight lips and rough tongue. He was embarrassed at an involuntary grunt that escaped his own mouth when he found, despite his earlier worry, that he could accommodate Thomas's length in it's ( _very_ above average) entirety without recourse to using his hands.

'Oh God…Oh God…Oh Dear GOD!'

Congratulating himself on having been able to bring Thomas to the crucial moment quite so quickly, Jimmy increased the vigor of his movements accordingly. Although he did dig his nails into Thomas's hips again to remind him about the need to keep his voice down on the off chance that a gardener did happen to walk nearby.

He was suddenly aware of Thomas's hand gripping the back of his head, and gave a quick glance up from his compromising position to meet Thomas's eyes. Giving wordless consent, he allowed Thomas to reach completion with a series of powerful thrusts that  _almost_  had him gagging. But he bore it well. ( _Like riding a bloody bicycle!_  Jimmy thought to himself with satisfaction as Thomas collapsed back against the arbor.)

Quickly rising (and running the clean side of the handkerchief over his lips), Jimmy surveyed his handiwork with pleasure. Thomas looked utterly undone.

'We really ought to be getting back now, don't you think?' He eventually said with a sympathetic grin as he stepped in to put Thomas's clothing back to rights.

'I….I think that….' Thomas said breathlessly, before giving up attempting a witty comeback (or even a coherent sentence). 'Yes.'

Jimmy gave him a quick hug before drawing back with a wink to lead the return journey to the house.

Watching Jimmy practically skip over the grass ahead of him, Thomas couldn't suppress a wave of affection for the strange, childlike, and at that moment, infectiously cheerful being.

Late that evening, as he once again set himself down at the table in the servant's hall with shoes, polish and a rag, Thomas had quite forgotten Jimmy's earlier promise.

It was a pleasant surprise when Jimmy appeared and sat opposite, clutching a book purely for show as he grinned at the state of Thomas's shoes (and the small smudge of shoe-polish on his cheek, that he had no intention of enlightening him about).

Down at the other end of the table, two hall boys were engaged in a game of Rummy while Gill sat by herself, working her way very slowly through a very thin book.

Thomas glanced up at Jimmy and smiled at him.

'Tell me something about clocks.' Said Jimmy.

Thomas ran the polishing rag through his fingers and laughed. 'You won't get far in high society with those conversation skills!' He spoke snarkily for the benefit of the room's other occupants (although none of them were paying the slightest bit of attention), while conveying his pleasure at Jimmy's presence with his eyes. 'What do you want to know about them?'

'I don't know…'

Thomas grinned internally.

_Absolutely hopeless...But bless him for trying…_

'How about, what it was like to grow up in a house full of clocks?' Said Jimmy.

Thomas's expression darkened.

'What do you think it was like? A den of wonder? Think legendary tales about clockmakers like Lazar the Hilandarian have any semblance to modern reality, do you?' Thomas laughed bitterly. 'My father spent half his time assembling factory cut pieces and the other half mending the same mundane things when they came back broken. The shop was always full of junk. And one time I got  _three_  metal screws stuck in my foot at the same time.'

Jimmy was taken aback. 'Christ, so was all that sensual talk about clocks as 'living things' just to get into my…' He caught himself abruptly. Another glance down the table confirmed that the other three occupants were still utterly uninterested in their conversation.

Thomas sighed, repeatedly wrapping then unwrapping the polishing rag round his fingers.

'I do love clocks. Just not the house where I grew up.'

Jimmy nodded slowly. Distressed at clearly having hit a nerve, but unable to push the issue given their current venue.

Thomas straightened up, berating himself for having an intensely over dramatised reaction to Jimmy's earnest (if inelegant) attempt at conversation. His eyes stared unseeing at the wood of the table, his mind searching for something to offer by way of anecdote.

He gave a smile at the memory which suddenly surfaced.

'There was one moment that sticks in my mind…something from when I was a kid.' Said Thomas softly. Jimmy perked up instantly. 'Quite often my father would keep working on the clock mechanisms after the sun went down, even though he shouldn't have. It knackered his eyes something rotten. Anyway, there was one night where I came downstairs and he was sleeping with his head on the table. Poor sod must have been exhausted. Most of the candles had burned out, but there were two still going on the side. And it was just….very dark, but the sight of the tiny bit of light glinting off all the brass cogs laid out over the table and the reflection in the glass clock faces on the shelf….it was like walking into some treasure trove rather than a tradesman's shop.' He finished with a smile.

Jimmy smiled himself at the image. 'Sounds like a den of wonder to me!' He said.

'Hmmm.' Said Thomas, giving him a warning gaze over the table.

Jimmy let the subject drop.

They covered all manner of topics as the evening wore on, including (but not limited to) cricket, the changing seasons, the Crawley's, books, travel and even (after a  _very_  careful look over their shoulders) Mr Carson.

Eventually Jimmy brought up the elephant in the room that they had been dancing around for over an hour.

'How about tomorrow night?' He whispered, despite the others having long since gone to bed. 'Will you come and visit me tomorrow…at night?'

Thomas was overtaken by a surge of nerves that begged for longer than 24 hours to resettle, but he quickly steeled himself.

He gave Jimmy a small nod, smiling with his eyes.

Almost as if on cue, Carson appeared in the doorway to shoo them off to bed as he finalised locking up for the evening.


	44. Chapter 44

Jimmy had been instructed to hover by the front door until Gregson's arrival to be on hand to immediately greet him and take his suitcases up to his room.

_Needn't have bothered about the 'greeting' aspect…._

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Edith sitting at the side of the hallway on the chaise longue, desperately waiting for the new arrival.

Her presence was making  _his_ wait that much more unpleasant.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he could just strike up a conversation. But their respective social positions meant that he couldn't be the one to initiate such an undertaking, and he doubted Edith had even properly acknowledged his presence. She was far too busy glancing periodically over at the front door and stirring awkwardly in her seat.

Her fidgeting was putting him somewhat on edge.

It was with a sense of powerful relief that Jimmy noted the sound of the car drawing up to the front of the house a good fifteen minutes before schedule.

Under normal circumstances the imposition of a guest arriving at anything other than their appointed time would have caused intense disapproval. But as it was, Lord Grantham and Mr Carson both decided against arranging a staff 'guard of honor' for the arrival of a humble newspaper editor, meaning that Jimmy himself was the only one on hand to be inconvenienced (or caught off guard) and in all truthfulness Jimmy was eager for sight of Gregson so that he could feed gossip back to Thomas, who had taken a sudden interest in Lady Edith's affairs.

From his brief exchange with Gregson (before Edith whisked him away the second Jimmy relieved him of his coat) Jimmy had to admit he was a little surprised. The man looked far more homely, fatherly and earnest than the hard-nosed image that the words 'newspaper editor' had conjured up in his mind. There was certainly nothing about him to give cause for alarm.

As he struggled upstairs with Gregson's cases (reminding himself to point out to Carson that one footman was rarely sufficient to carry all the luggage that Downton guests dumped on them) Jimmy fantasized with amusement about the potential reactions from the Crawley's when Gregson formally asked for Edith's hand in marriage. He briefly wondered if he might in fact get to see the spectacle for himself, but then realised that the formalities would most likely be settled behind closed doors in the men's after-dinner drinks before they rejoined the ladies to begin formal celebrations.

_I wonder if we will get some wine downstairs if Edith gets engaged…?_

_That MUST be why he's here._

_Thomas is totally convinced._

_Lord Grantham must have realised._

_Why else does a Lady invite a gentleman to meet her father?_

As he eased himself into the guest room he pondered for a moment why this particular room had been chosen. It was by far one of the smallest rooms, and while the 'best' guest bedrooms preferentially went to those of high rank, they were all empty at present.

_That's not very encouraging…_

_Is this supposed to be Grantham's way of saying he's not welcome?_

_Jesus, I know he's no Lord but that's a bit harsh. They've never even met._

_…I'm sure it will be fine once they get to know each other._

_Such a kind face. I'm sure even Grantham will melt._

Jimmy set the cases down on the floor.

'Oh damn!' He whispered to himself.

Edith had drawn Gregson away so swiftly that he hadn't had time to ask if he wanted his things unpacked. It was standard practice for the nobility, but it was clear that Gregson would be unaccustomed to having a manservant. Jimmy winced slightly at the thought of how he himself would react if he came upon someone handling his private things.

Still, in the grand scheme of things, he decided that Gregson would be less likely to complain if his things  _were_ unpacked rather than if they weren't.

As he headed back to the kitchens as the morning drew to a close, Jimmy was surprised to catch himself whistling as he descended the stairs.

The promise of drama (hopefully culminating in a marriage proposal) and a nocturnal visit from Thomas (hopefully culminating in a….culmination) had definitely made his soul feel light about the prospect of the day ahead.

As he rounded the second to last platform on the stairs he almost collided with Thomas exiting the first floor corridor.

Jimmy glanced up the stairs as Thomas glanced down; the staircase was empty in both directions. They both turned back to each other as their lips made the briefest of meetings.

'So…? What's he like?' Said Thomas eagerly.

'Nice…I think. He's quite soft spoken and seems a little awkward, but he practically radiates kindness.'

'You think I will give Lady Edith leave to like him as a suitor?' Said Thomas with a grin.

'I should think so. But the real work will be Lord Grantham. I think Gregson's come prepared for a struggle though. All the formal clothes he's packed look brand new!'

'Ah…speaking of clothes. Did you  _actually_  wash my shirt, or were you just pretending to? If you did, I was wondering if I could get it back off you? My other civvy ones are in need of cleaning and I was hoping to quickly go into Ripon this afternoon.'

'I did, actually. I could go and…No, damn, luncheon is any minute now!' Said Jimmy glancing down the stairs as the noise from the kitchen became more apparent, heralding the imminent completion of the dishes. 'If you go into my room, it's folded on top of the chest of drawers. I kept forgetting to bring it out to you!' Jimmy started down the stairs at a brisk pace, but turned briefly back to Thomas.

'Did you know they'd put Gregson in the second bedroom from the landing? You know, the small one?'

Thomas raised his eyebrows. 'Yes, I did. I wonder if that was intended as a not-so-subtle hint.' He said ruefully before turning to head up the stairs to the attic.

Thomas met no one on the stairs as he made his way to the servant's quarters, and the corridor was empty on his arrival.

He paused at Jimmy's door, overcome by a distinctly negative pang in his gut despite the brightly lit corridor, the certainty that Jimmy wasn't actually in there and the existence of a perfectly legitimate reason as to why he needed to enter Jimmy's bedroom unescorted.

_[You're going to have to get more of a handle on this by tonight…]_

Thomas blinked at the reminder, wondering why the prospect wasn't exciting him the way it really REALLY ought to.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Thomas pushed open the door and made his way quickly over the chest of drawers. There it was, his shirt, sitting on top, folded and pressed and ready for collection.

With a smile Thomas scooped it up and turned to walk back to the door, feeling very uneasy about being in someone else's room (without them being present) for the first time in a VERY long time.

_[For goodness sake, you've made a living arranging people's personal possessions in their absence!]_

Thomas shrugged to himself and began to walk.

There was the sound of wood scraping over wood and he was abruptly pulled back.

Frowning in confusion, Thomas looked down and saw that the pocket of his jacket had caught on the upper drawer knob, pulling the drawer partially out and off it's runners and putting a tear down the side of his jacket.

'Damnit!' Thomas inspected the damage. Despite his wish to be present at the dinner that evening to see how Gregson and Edith fared, he gave thanks for the first time that Carson had decided his presence would not be needed.

_Mending this is going to be an utter bitch…_

Tucking the shirt under one arm, he worked on resetting the drawer onto it's runners. It was a tricky maneuver, but it didn't take him long to get the drawer moving smoothly back and forth again.

As he pulled the drawer out to the extent of it's runners to give one final test he caught sight of a handwritten document peeking out from within the small pile of books inside the drawer.

He tilted up the books above it to allow him to slot it properly back into the pile.

But the jolt of recognition as he took in the style of handwriting stopped him dead.

_Holy shit…_

In a dreamlike daze, he pulled the paper out of the drawer.

_[You KNOW what it is. Just put it back.]_

Thomas bit his lip as he read the first few lines.

_[See, I told you. You know what it is. Now put it back.]_

His brow creased up as he read further.

_Why does he still have this?_

_[What do you mean 'why'? His 'business arrangement' had nothing to do with you, or what the Duke tried to do to you, did it? Why should his 'trade' suffer because of your hair-brained scheme to seduce a nobleman eight years ago, eh?]_

_[Now put it THE FUCK back!]_

Standing stock still, the rest of the world temporarily ceasing to exist, Thomas read every line of the Duke's hand as he extolled Jimmy's 'virtues', his cheeks becoming wet with tears.

When he was done he brought a hand up to his face and sobbed.

_[Get a bloody grip. There's nothing about this that you didn't already know…]_

_I know that…I KNEW that, I did._

_I also know I have NEVER needed a smoke more in my goddamn life!_

He thrust the document back into the drawer and shoved it closed before practically running for the door.

Later, Jimmy noted Thomas's absence from the servant's dinner only in passing.

_Probably got caught up in Ripon…_

After the dressing gong he made his way upstairs and tentatively knocked on Gregson's door.

'Come in!' Gregson called brightly. His happy expression shifted to one of confusion when he caught sight of Jimmy.

_Who were you expecting then…?_

'Forgive the intrusion, Sir. I'm sent to offer my services as Valet during your stay here, if you require.'

'Ah, marvelous! Are you the chap who unpacked my cases? I must confess I am at a complete loss as to where to find my tie!' He said pleasantly.

'Sorry, Sir. Yes I was.' Said Jimmy quickly, moving over to where he had secreted the ties and gloves in the bureau.

'Capital!' Said Gregson, sitting down on the bed as he continued to do-up the buttons on his dress-shirt. 'I wonder if you might be able to make sure I get everything on right for dinner, I must confess I am not used to these sorts of things.' He swept a hand over the components of formal wear he had assembled on the bed in preparation. 'Edith was going to try to break away to help me, but I had rather worried that it would make us both late!'

Jimmy turned, tie in hand, and smiled at Gregson. On most people that level of instant overfamiliarity would be irritating and unwelcome, but on him it was heartwarming and endearing.

_Edith…this one's a keeper!_

'We'll have you ready in no time, Sir!'

By the time Edith knocked on the door to collect Gregson for the pre-dinner drinks he was looking fit for an audience at Buckingham Palace.

Jimmy congratulated himself on a job well done as he watched the two of them disappear down the corridor before rushing back to be ready to help with the dinner service.


	45. Chapter 45

As Jimmy had suspected, Lord Grantham, Matthew and Tom had holed themselves up with Gregson (and some very large brandys) immediately after dinner.

The absence of the Dowager and Isobel Crawley rendered the female numbers rather thin on the ground, so he and Alfred were stood feeling rather useless at the side of the room as Cora and Mary discussed the rumors of Rosamund's new beau while Edith sat beside them playing absently with the string of glass beads at her neck, making no effort to join in the conversation.

The dinner hadn't been quite as awkward as Jimmy had been expecting (he was glad he had taken a brief moment to explain the order of things to Gregson while dressing him earlier so that he didn't show himself up too much). The dinner conversation was small-talk at its finest, peppered with a barrage of thinly veiled questions directed at the nature of Gregson's work, residence, family and political affiliation. The answers to all of which seemed to be decidedly neutral and unalarming. Although Jimmy did notice quite a few nervous glances being exchanged between Edith and Gregson when the other diners attention was turned elsewhere, so he had the feeling there must be a little more to the situation than was immediately apparent.

He heard Alfred sigh in boredom next to him and shot him a wry smile.

He looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece before glancing over at the door, wishing the men would call for more drinks or cigars.

_They must be getting to the good stuff by now…_

He glanced down at Edith's distressed state, and was surprised to meet Cora's gaze as she did exactly the same.

'I think we could all use a refill.' She said to Jimmy, before turning her attention to Edith.

'I'm sure they're all getting along famously.' She said to Edith, her smile was somewhat unconvincing but there was reassurance in the quick squeeze she gave to Edith's wrist.

Jimmy pulled the decanter out from it's stand and walked across to them.

_How bad could it be….?_

He bent down to top up Cora's drink.

There was the dim sound of shattering glass from outside the room.

_Oh shit…_

Jimmy spilled a few drops of the amber liquid onto Cora's light peach coloured gown, but thankfully she was too preoccupied to notice.

_PLEASE let that be a clumsy maid…._

At the sound of rapid footsteps in the corridor outside, Edith sprang from her seat. But before she could move further, the door crashed open.

Robert stormed into the room, his face full of rage and his skin a distracting puce colour. His eyes flashed as he shouted at Edith.

'Do you take me and this family to be some kind of joke?'

She took a few steps backwards as he advanced into the room, momentarily cowed by the intensity of his anger.

Jimmy recovered from his earlier shock enough to move himself behind the sofa, clutching the crystal decanter to his chest for dear life, to allow Cora to stare unimpeded at the spectacle.

Both she and Mary were stunned into silence, clearly just as confused as Jimmy (and Alfred, whose eyes were practically standing out on stalks behind Robert) as to what had managed to get him quite so worked up.

'What possessed you to believe I would even consider giving my assent to this TRAVESTY!?' Robert bellowed.

'I….I…' Edith tried frantically to find the words she needed.

She was momentarily reprieved as Matthew, Tom and Gregson appeared in the doorway.

Jimmy noted the pained expression on Gregson's face as he beheld Edith's distress.

As Gregson went to walk over to her, Tom grasped his wrist to subtly restrain him. He shot Gregson a look of sympathy with a distinct aura of warning.

Matthew crossed the room rapidly and held a hand out to Mary.

'Come on Darling, I think we ought to be away.' He said.

Mary frowned at him, clearly uneager to be removed from the situation until she had been enlightened as to precisely what was going on, but Robert cut in before she could reply.

'No, no. We are all family here, after all. I think the whole family should be aware as to what nature of man my daughter has admitted to our midst.' Said Robert bitterly.

Matthew sat down abruptly next to Mary, unwilling to antagonize Robert further, clasping Mary's hands between his in her lap (more for his own support than hers).

'Robert, I think you need to calm down.' Said Cora firmly.

Robert gave a slightly manic laugh. 'He's married. MARRIED and he still thinks he can court out daughter. He has taken a house for the two of them in London.' He pointed an accusing finger over at Gregson, who looked as though he wished the floorboards would open up and swallow him. 'Did you know that?' Said Robert, turning back to Cora. 'Did ANY of you know that?' He said, sweeping his eyes across the rest of the family.

Jimmy almost dropped the decanter.

_What the actual Hell….?_

'Married in technicality, not in heart!' Edith shouted desperately back at him, having finally recovered her voice.

'He has made vows before God to another woman!' Robert bellowed.

'When Bates and Anna met, he had already made his vows. Yet we all celebrate their happiness!'

'Divorce, Edith! Their marriage was rendered good in the eyes of God and society.'

'And what if he hadn't gotten a divorce?' She cried. 'He and Anna would have gone on loving one another regardless until his wife's death,  _then_  they would have married…just the same!'

'Lord Grantham, my wife  _is_  all but dead to me. She can never be released to a normal life and she doesn't even know who I am.' Gregson cut in, with a surprisingly level voice. 'And whatever your opinion of me, believe that I do love your daughter and intend to do right by her to the best of my abilities.'

'Your BEST?!' Robert yelled. 'Your best, Sir, is not NEARLY good enough. You propose to lead my daughter into a life of ill repute.'

'I propose to make a life with the woman I love!'

'What does it matter to you if we are married or not?' Edith shouted.

'Darling!' Exclaimed Cora, staring at Edith in shock.

Robert inhaled and looked as though he were about to finally burst, but Edith continued quickly.

'I knew you wouldn't understand! You and mother, Mary and Matthew….you have your acceptable partnerships, status, the money, the estate…You are all already  _perfect i_ n the eyes of the world. Can you not conceive that some of us do not have the luxury of waiting for this…this…all but unobtainable, ideal? And Tom…and Sybil..' She was momentarily rendered mute by the need to draw breath. 'It may not have been perfect, but there was respectability and happiness…at least for a time.' She glanced over at Tom, who had bowed his head, before turning on Robert again. 'Life hasn't blessed me the way it's blessed you!' She said desperately. 'But I feel blessed now. I am truly loved for the first time in my life….And if you or 'society' cannot allow and celebrate that love because of the absence of a marriage licence, that would change  _nothing_  about the way Michael and I feel about one another…then you can go to hell.'

She stormed past Robert and out of the room, Gregson following at her heels, leaving complete silence in her wake.

Jimmy arrived back in the servant's hall breathless from having run down the stairs and quickly scanned the room with his eyes. He almost missed spotting Thomas, sitting in the corner down the far end of the otherwise empty table.

He walked swiftly over to him and dropped down to sit beside him on the bench, conscious that he only had a few moments before the others would be making their way back downstairs.

'You are NEVER going to believe what's happened!' He whispered dramatically, still breathing heavily from the run.

Thomas's attention remained on the black jacket he was mending. He didn't look up and he didn't reply.

'Thomas!...' Jimmy grinned, leaning in to nudge him. 'There isn't time for you to be infuriating! The other's will be down in a minute and I want to be the first to tell you what happened with Lady Edith…'

'I'm busy.' Said Thomas curtly without looking up from the needle and thread.

'Trust me, you'll want to hear this!' Said Jimmy, his grin faltering a little when he noticed the slight tremor in Thomas's hands.

'I'm really not interested right now. Ok?'

Jimmy continued undaunted. 'I think they're kicking Gregson out tomorrow morning…'

'Well then, you'd best make sure his account's settled before he goes.' Said Thomas cynically.

Jimmy drew back.

'What?'

'You heard me.' Said Thomas, doing a very poor job of pretending to still be engrossed in his sewing.

'What the hell's made you say that?' Jimmy whispered harshly.

'Past precedent.' Thomas replied without missing a beat.

'I haven't done anything with him. Nor do I intend to…' He said, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks.

'I'd have thought someone like him would have deep enough pockets.' Thomas said with an air of disinterest.

'Thomas, seriously, what's brought this on?' Jimmy whispered urgently, conscious of noise trickling down from the staircase outside.

Thomas ignored his words and stabbed the needle back into the thick fabric with vigor.

'Say Anstruther were to turn up on the steps of Downton and offer you ten thousand to suck him off…What would you say?' Said Thomas, continuing to sew as though there was nothing extraordinary about the conversation whatsoever.

Jimmy stared at him.

'Nothing…' He eventually said.

'No?' Said Thomas skeptically.

'No. I'd be too busy undoing his fly. Wouldn't I?' Said Jimmy as he rose sharply and stormed out of the room.

Thomas screwed his eyes shut tight, throwing the jacket down on the table as he briefly rested his head in his hands.

The arrival of the rest of the excitedly chattering staff moments later forced him to rapidly return his face to neutral.

Up on the servant's corridor, Jimmy slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. He paced the room in agitation, pausing every now and then to shed an item of clothing or to don an item of night-wear.

_As if I'm going to be able to sleep after THAT…_

He tore a comb through his hair before conceding he needed to stand still for long enough to wash. Viciously splashing his face (and the surrounding floor) with water he stared at his reflection in the mirror as the water droplets ran back off his face to drip into the basin.

After drying off he threw the hand-towel down into the corner of the room and sat heavily on his bed, forcing himself to finally take some much needed deep breaths.

Almost an hour later he hadn't moved a muscle and he jumped spectacularly at the sound of a very quiet knock on the door.

It was Thomas.

'Can't sleep?' Said Jimmy darkly. Keeping the door partially closed to leave Thomas standing in the corridor.

'Let me explain.' Whispered Thomas, glancing nervously over his shoulder at a noise.

It was just the floorboards settling in the colder night air.

'I'm listening…' Said Jimmy, without moving to admit Thomas into the room.

Thomas shifted nervously outside.

'Your top drawer. It caught on my jacket today...And the drawer came out.' Thomas whispered; impossibly quiet in the empty corridor.

Jimmy frowned.

_What on earth does that have to do with…_

He glanced over at the chest of drawers.

With a sigh, Jimmy stepped back and motioned Thomas inside.

Back downstairs, another man was entering a different bedroom with a feeling of trepidation.

'That was a very uncomfortable display after dinner.' Chastised Cora as Robert entered the room.

'A man…A man, had just looked me straight in the eye and informed me he intended to make a mistress out of my daughter…I don't believe there is such a thing as an over-reaction under such circumstances.' He replied, shrugging out of his dressing gown. Cora stared reproachfully at him for a few more moments before her face softened.

'Robert what are we going to do?' She said quietly.

Robert climbed under the covers and shook his head. 'I don't know. I wish she would understand that it's not about the scandal…'

'I know, Darling.' Cora ran a hand across his chest.

'I'm worried for her. If she goes down this road…there's nothing to stop him throwing her over when the next woman walks by. I'm worried about her safety…I don't want her eagerness for happiness to lead to a lifetime of uncertainty and abuse.'

Cora stirred next to him. 'I  _know_  that, Robert. I know you worry about her. I know that you would have put our family's happiness above social propriety even  _before_  you're little epiphany the other day.' She bent forward to kiss his forehead. 'But I'm sorry to say that I don't think  _she_  does… Things would have gone a lot better tonight if that had been the line you took when Gregson made his intentions clear.'

'A father shouldn't have to tell his daughter that he has her best interests at heart.' Said Robert firmly, settling down onto his pillow.


	46. Chapter 46

Thomas stood awkwardly in the middle of Jimmy's room, still in his uniform (which was looking rather crumpled after several hours hunched over the table in the servant's hall) sans jacket.

Jimmy stood a little way away leaning against the wash stand, arms crossed defensively, waiting for him to speak.

He didn't.

With an exasperated sigh, Jimmy walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled the top one open. He found the offending document lying on top of the pile of books where Thomas had left it.

Pivoting on his heel he turned back to Thomas, brandishing the reference in his hand.

'Burn it.' He said, holding it out to Thomas.

Thomas made no move to take it.

Jimmy smiled bitterly. 'Come on. Everything else got cremated, why shouldn't this?'

'It's not about that damn thing, Jimmy.' Said Thomas quietly. 'Put it back.'

Jimmy complied, this time leaning up against the chest of drawers as he (once again) crossed his arms over his chest.

Thomas sniffed and continued. 'I'm having a hard time with what you've done…for things…in the past.'

'Believe me, I was able to pick up on your subtle hints this evening.' Said Jimmy resentfully. He bit his lip before blurting out. 'That was bloody unnecessary Thomas!'

'So was your joke about Anstruther.' Thomas bit back.

Jimmy shrugged. 'No joke. Right now I'd probably do it for a bit less than ten thousand if I'm honest.'

Thomas turned away in disgust.

'Don't you sodding dare, you hypocrite!' Jimmy staggered forwards and grabbed Thomas's arm to pull him back. 'Everyone has their price.'

'Not me!' Thomas snarled at him.

'Oh…' Jimmy's eyes widened in mock astonishment. 'I do apologise! You should have told me that you and Crowborough were just having a bit of naughty role-play that night before Christmas Eve. I didn't realise you were such a good actor… Shit! I don't half feel bad for killing the poor fucker now…!'

He knew he'd crossed a line.

He didn't care.

Thomas's face metamorphosed into a look that would have terrified him….had Jimmy not been quite so pissed off himself at that particular moment.

Thomas gripped him tightly under the arm to hold him in place, hissing into his ear. 'That's NOT the same.'

Jimmy gripped his own hand over Thomas's, scratching deeply across the skin of his lower arm and digging his nails in to hold  _him_ in place as they stood almost nose to nose.

'How so?' Jimmy leaned to bring them cheek to cheek, speaking directly into Thomas's ear. 'I'm your price…and your're bloody mine… Know what I'd do with ten grand if someone offered it to me now? I'd buy  _US_  a house. There is literally  _nothing_  I wouldn't do for you, to make it easier to be with you…' The words may have been sweet (at least, under other circumstances) but the voice was vicious and hostile.

He released his hold and pulled away, shaking free of Thomas's grip.

'Get out.' He pointed at the door.

Thomas stared at him, another far more heated emotion suddenly vying for space along with the anger in his head.

Jimmy glared back. 'Get the fuck out.' His hand was still raised towards the door. But as his eyes met Thomas's…

They both moved at exactly the same time, colliding together with force.

_EVERYTHING be damned!_

Their mouths clashed together, only briefly breaking apart to allow Jimmy to rip his undershirt over his head, messy and hungry.

Thomas gave a low moan as Jimmy bit down on his probing tongue, and pulled Jimmy in even closer with firm hands on his backside.

Jimmy shoved him back a little to get his hands between them to work open the front of Thomas's trousers.

Thomas sighed in approval. Releasing his lips and ducking his head to bite Jimmy's neck, he lapped at the raw flesh with his tongue as he pushed Jimmy's pyjama trousers down his thighs.

He spun them both around to push Jimmy back onto the bed, yanking his pyjamas completely off before pouncing on him to mash their lips together again.

Jimmy's body cried out in protest at the lack of skin contact, but became instantly more pleasurably occupied in anticipation as he succeeded in freeing the most crucial part of Thomas's anatomy from the confines of his uniform. Thomas crooned against Jimmy's mouth as strong fingers enveloped his straining erection.

He moved to bite down on Jimmy's neck again, drawing a sharp cry in response (and even more vigorous attention to his cock).

Jimmy inclined his head towards where Thomas's had come to rest over his shoulder. 'Do  _me_  this time…yes?' He panted. Thomas nodded against his neck, having already lost the ability to speak.

Thomas grabbed one of Jimmy's legs by the thigh and pulled it up around his hips, pinning Jimmy beneath him and maneuvering them both to lie more centrally on the tiny bed in the process.

Jimmy pushed back.

After a brief but energetic struggle, their positions were reversed.

Jimmy sat astride Thomas, holding himself up with a hand on Thomas's stomach while he quickly (and very indelicately) endeavored to open himself up to accommodate the very tempting prospect pressing against his inner thigh.

Thomas stared at him through lust-lidded eyes. He ran an unsteady hand down Jimmy's naked chest, waiting as patiently as humanly possible given the situation.

He didn't have to wait long.

Head thrown back, mouth wide open, feeling every muscle in his body awaken, Thomas welcomed every inch of depth achieved as Jimmy slid down onto him for the first time.

He brought his hands to grip Jimmy's thighs as he slowly withdrew then bore down on him again.

The silence in the room was suddenly deafening, punctuated by Thomas's breathy gasps at Jimmy's movements.

Somehow getting himself together enough to look up at Jimmy's face, Thomas was dissatisfied with the level of composure that he saw looking back at him.

_That won't do at all…_

Moving his hands up to get a strong grip on Jimmy's hips, Thomas deliberately unbalanced him and rolled them both over to wind up back on top himself.

Jimmy gave a shout.

Thomas was unsure if Jimmy's shout was in protest at the re-reversal of their positions, or pain at the maneuver tipping them both off the bed to land with a thump on the hard floorboards, but he gave it no more thought. His mind entirely focused on sinking back into that maddening heat.

As Thomas achieved his goal it was Jimmy's turn to throw back his head in sensory overload.

Thomas pulled out and slammed back again with vigor. Jimmy let out a cry.

Thomas stilled for a moment, worried that he had hurt him. But as Jimmy pulled him down for a quick and desperate kiss, then proceeded to raise his legs to wrap around Thomas's back, he found his fears quite dispersed.

He moved repeatedly and forcefully into him, drawing frantic cries from Jimmy every single time.

True, Thomas wasn't quite sure what the hell he was doing.

But he knew for damn sure that he was going to keep doing  _anything_  that could draw such a shameless reaction from Jimmy.

The moment was all encompassing for both of them.

Neither of them could accommodate the notion of anything other than the pleasure of the other man.

Their location had completely fled their minds. The need for quiet was long forgotten.

Neither of them noticed the door open.

Neither of them noticed the presence of others in the room.

That is, until Thomas found his shoulders fixed in a vice-like grip.

From his vantage point on the floor, through a haze of pent up arousal, Jimmy dimly registered that Thomas was being pulled away from him.

And he was struggling.

Turning onto his side, Jimmy tried to make out the other men suddenly standing around the room.

Alfred's height and proximity made him easy to recognise.

He and another figure Jimmy couldn't quite make out were trying to immobilise Thomas.

As he attempted to block Thomas's panicked attempt to break free, the second figure's foot accidently connected with Jimmy's head on the floor.

Jimmy's head cracked back against the metal leg of the bed-frame and his world went black.


	47. Chapter 47

He was in a bed.

That much Jimmy could establish as he slowly became aware of the feel of the mattress against his back and the cotton sheet under his fingers.

_Oh Jeeeeesus, my head…._

There was a painful throbbing at his right temple and a dull pressure stretching across the crown of his skull. He tried tilting his head slightly.

_Fuck!_

The mattress suddenly felt as though it was rolling on the swell of a stormy sea.

Jimmy gave a cry and brought his head back to rest in it's original position (the mattress seeming to give another violent lurch as he did so).

'Jimmy?' Exclaimed a voice from nearby.

A hand suddenly gripped his wrist and gave it a slight shake.

'Jimmy, can you hear me?'

_Alfred…?_

_Damn, have I overslept?_

In panic Jimmy tried to launch himself up into a sitting position, his throbbing head temporarily forgotten.

He made it less than six inches off the pillow before being forced to fall back, with another (much louder) shout.

'Hey! Stop that!' Another hand (that Jimmy presumed must belong to Alfred, along with the one at his wrist) appeared at his shoulder to keep him still. 'It's ok! Calm down!'

_What's going on….?_

Jimmy frowned, earning himself another twinge of pain, and tentatively opened his eyes.

He blinked rapidly in the crisp sunlight streaming in through the windows. He groaned in discomfort at the spots that prickled across his vision.

His eyes picked out Alfred's form standing over him. His face wore an expression of intense concern.

'Jimmy, can you hear me?' Said Alfred, giving his wrist another shake.

'Alfred…?' Jimmy croaked out, trying to pry his eyes open wider.

'Oh thank God!' Alfred exclaimed, beaming like a child at fete.

'What…?' Jimmy began.

'Shhh. I have to go and get Dr Clarkson. He's just outside with Mr Carson, I'll be right back.' Alfred bounded out of the room.

Jimmy's eyes followed him in bewilderment as he went.

Attempting to get a handle on his intense feeling of disorientation, Jimmy looked around at the room.

_Ok, my bedroom. That's something._

He looked at the light coming in through the windows.

_Bloody hell, it must be close on midday!_

_Why am I still in bed…?_

_[Because you hurt your head, you idiot. That's why the Doctor is here.]_

_Right…I hurt my head._

_How?_

_[…]_

He shifted about on the bed, wracking his un-cooperative brain.

_God my head REALLY hurts…_

_…_

_Am I badly hurt?_

_I suppose I must be…otherwise they wouldn't have sent for Clarkson._

_If it was a small thing they would have just asked Thomas to…_

_…_

_OH GOD!_

Jimmy made it up into a sitting position this time. He cried out again as a great weight seemed to descend on his head and the world swam in front of his eyes.

'Whoa, whoa! Easy there James!' Dr Clarkson's Scottish tones rang out in the room as he crossed over quickly to the bedside to guide Jimmy back down to the mattress.

Jimmy stared up at him, hyperventilating in terror.

'Calm down, James. Calm down.' Said Clarkson soothingly.

Clarkson glanced over at Alfred who had followed him in.

'Thank you Alfred. Could you please leave us for a moment? I can take it from here.'

With worried glance at Jimmy, Alfred reluctantly complied. He closed the door softly behind himself.

'Well, James.' Dr Clarkson said with his best reassuring smile. 'You've had us all very worried, I can tell you!'

Jimmy stared back at him, utterly lost.

Clarkson pulled the nearby chair closer to the bedside and sat down. His smile faded as he met Jimmy's confused gaze.

'Do you…' Clarkson's smile vanished entirely as he considered his next words. 'Do you remember what happened, James?'

_Oh God…_

As the sound of Thomas's fervid gasps replayed in his ears, Jimmy felt his eyes become wet with fear.

_How could we have been so stupid…_

'I think so…' He eventually replied, unable to produce more than a croaky whisper. 'But…I'm confused.'

Clarkson nodded, looking down at him with solemn sympathy.

'That is perfectly understandable, you were unconscious for a worrying amount of time in the early hours of this morning and have been alternating between sleep and periods of incoherence since then...It will take time for things to settle in your head.' Said Clarkson. He balled his hands up into fists and rolled them over his knees nervously, looking intensely uncomfortable as he spoke again. 'How are you feeling James?'

'My head feels bad.' Jimmy said quietly.

'Of course. But I meant…' Clarkson sighed deeply. '…in  _other_ regards.'

'What do you mean?' Jimmy choked out.

'I'm afraid, I think you know.'

Jimmy averted his gaze to the ceiling.

_Oh God…_

Dr Clarkson regarded him in silence for a while.

'James, myself and those who intervened last night are aware of what happened. I know that this is a delicate situation, but please be assured that no one feels any less of you.'

_What…?_

Clarkson frowned at Jimmy's continued silence. He sighed regrettably.

'In the early hours of this morning the male staff became aware of a  _disturbance_ in your quarters.' Said Clarkson, grimacing as he shifted his gaze to the floor. 'As I understand it, they heard sounds of a struggle and then they heard you screaming. Upon entering the room, they found Mr Barrow…' Clarkson sniffed and looked up at the ceiling in discomfort. '…pinning you to the floor, forcing himself on you.'

Jimmy's mouth and eyes flew wide open.

_Oh my God…_

He had no words.

'Now…I have examined you, and it would seem, mercifully, that the physical damage is minimal…'

The indignity of being handled in  _that_  manner while unconscious absolutely paled in comparison to the rising terror in Jimmy's mind with regards to Thomas.

'Where is Thomas?' He said desperately, cutting Clarkson off mid-sentence.

'You are quite safe from him.' Said Clarkson. 'Now getting back to…'

Jimmy's mind swam with the blurry image of Thomas being manhandled in the brief moment before he was rendered unconscious.

'Was Thomas…What did they do to him? Has he needed treatment?' Jimmy interrupted.

'I'm afraid I can't speak as to his condition. I came to see you directly on my arrival. I believe Mr Barrow was in…. _discussion…_  with Lord Grantham at the time. The police came to collect him shortly after.'

_The police…._

'NO!' Jimmy shouted, whipping his head sideways to look back at Clarkson. This time he barely registered the pain and disorientation of moving his head; Praying he would read some indication in Clarkson's eyes that he had somehow misheard or misunderstood.

_Please no._

'Don't worry, James! You do not need to fear being implicated. As events of  _this nature_  are not recognised in a court of law Lord Grantham had Mr Barrow arrested for assault not indecent acts for precisely that reason. I believe he feels…' Dr Clarkson shook his head sadly. '…personally responsible for what happened. I am given to understand that a previous indiscretion of Mr Barrow's towards yourself went unheeded despite your protestations at the time…' Clarkson trailed off.

_No…_

_Oh God, what have I done?_

_WHAT HAVE I DONE?_

The water that had been collecting in Jimmy's eyes suddenly found a purpose. He gave an agonised sob as the tears began streaming.

Dr Clarkson shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

'There, there, chap!' He patted Jimmy's arm briefly. 'A little time, and you will forget the entire nasty business. Now…let's return to getting you better, shall we?'


	48. Chapter 48

Carson was sat at his desk, brow furrowed in concentration, as he carefully decanted the red wine for dinner into the waiting crystal receptacle when there was a small tap at his office door.

'Come in!' He called, tilting the bottle back upright (unwilling to risk spilling even a drop at the unwelcome distraction). He looked up austerely as the visitor pushed open the door.

His face fell when he recognised Mrs Hughes. He closed his eyes in defeat as he set the wine bottle down on the table.

Mrs Hughes regarded his expression reproachfully.

'You've deduced my purpose in coming here then?' She said sternly. 'Don't think I haven't noticed you've been avoiding me the entire day.'

Carson shook his head impotently, occupying himself with staring at his fingers trailing over the glass of the wine bottle.

'Mr Carson, I won't be kept in the dark about a matter this serious.' She asserted.

'Mrs Hughes…' Said Carson, his fear of meeting her gaze belying the conviction in his voice. '…the matter is not open for discussion.'

' _Mr Carson_ …' She advanced towards the desk. '... I am Housekeeper of Downton, responsible for staff welfare as much as you, not some gossip of a maid, and I WILL have an explanation as to why one of our most long-serving members of staff is suddenly taken by the police.'

Carson humphed at his desk and stayed silent, still staring at the wine.

'Do not force me to resort to unladylike language to convince you of my determination Mr Carson!' Mrs Hughes stood directly in front of the desk with an aura of grit.

'Therein lies the problem, Mrs Hughes.' Said Carson. 'You are a lady and as such I cannot discuss the particulars.'

''Lady' be damned!' Exclaimed Mrs Hughes, shocking Mr Carson into finally turning towards her. 'I know Mr Barrow was arrested this morning, and I know James is convalescing in his room. I believe it would be simple of me indeed to not see that these two events are linked. But I cannot fathom in what manner. Thomas, whatever else he may be, is a  _gentle_ creature. I cannot think of what circumstances would compel him to hurt another member of staff, particularly a member of staff that we know he holds close to his heart despite the way he has treated him, and…well, the truth cannot be worse than my imaginings.'

Mr Carson shook his head again.

'Mrs Hughes, the truth is worse than any of us could have imagined...' He said. Mrs Hughes's indignation softened as she beheld that sadness in his eyes in surprise. '…but I cannot…'

'You will Mr Carson. You cannot keep me in this torturous ignorance.' She set her jaw in resolve. 'If you will not enlighten me, then I will have no choice other than to take my questions to His Lordship.'

Carson sighed deeply. 'Are you quite sure?'

Mrs Hughes nodded.

'Very well…' Carson rose and indicated towards the small table and chairs at the side of the office.

They both sat down, looking at each other with equal worry.

Carson sighed again before speaking. 'The truth of the matter is that last night Mr Barrow entered James's room and…forced himself on him.' He searched Mrs Hughes expression with worried eyes.

Mrs Hughes was suddenly indignant again. 'James accused Mr Barrow of rape?' She exclaimed, as though Carson had just informed her that James had declared himself King of England.

Mr Carson shook his head sadly.

'Mrs Hughes, there was…no need for James to do so. Mr Barrow was caught in the act. Myself and several of the other manservants were woken by shouts from James's room late last night. And when we entered...I'm sorry to say, Mrs Hughes, that there was no room for misinterpretation.'

Mrs Hughes stared at him in shock, her eyes begging for the smallest hope of reprieve.

Carson reluctantly continued. 'James was naked, on the floor, and Mr Barrow was violently…' He stopped, unable to voice the rest. He leaned forward to rest his elbow on the desk, burying his face in his hand.

'Oh Lord preserve us…' Mrs Hughes whispered.

They sat in silence for a few moments until Mr Carson put himself to rights and raised his head.

'How is James?' Said Mrs Hughes softly.

'In a bad way.' Carson replied. 'He received a nasty head injury in the scuffle while Mr Barrow was apprehended which has no doubt added to his distress. I had to keep someone watching him throughout the afternoon as he kept trying to rise from his bed despite Dr Clarkson's expressed wishes to the contrary. He finally settled down a little while ago, and so I directed that he should be left alone to sleep...if he can.'

'Has he eaten anything?'

'I think he is quite unable to do so at present.' Said Carson grimly.

Mrs Hughes nodded in sad acknowledgement. 'Would you have any objections to my visiting him? I'll take him up a drink in case he is still awake.'

'I believe that would be much appreciated Mrs Hughes.' Said Carson. He gave a quick sniff before rising to continue his attentions to the wine for that evening.

A few minutes later, Mrs Hughes knocked at Jimmy's bedroom door.

'James, it's Mrs Hughes.' She called before entering.

'Oh my…' She breathed softly to herself, the sight of him dispelling the last shred of disbelief her mind had desperately clung to.

Jimmy was lying hunched on his side, trembling under the bed sheets. His body was wracked with sobs, although no fresh tears were forthcoming, his face blotched and streaked with the salty paths of those he had shed throughout the day.

'Oh James!' Said Mrs Hughes, crossing over quickly to his side.

She set the cup of tea down on the nightstand and settled into the chair by the bed, extending a hand to soothingly rub his shoulder.

'I am so sorry James.' She said quietly.

His sobs increased vigorously.

'I am here for you if you need to talk.' She continued.

'I need to speak to Lord Grantham.' Jimmy choked out with a force that startled her.

'That's best left until you are feeling more yourself I think.' She said softly. 'And don't go doing anything rash when you do speak to him. You are among friends here, James, and we do not wish to loose you from this household.'

Jimmy gave an agonised moan and shuddered violently under her hand before eventually settling back down.

Mrs Hughes blinked back the tears which had begun to form in her own eyes. She glanced at the window at the gathering dusk.

'Would you like the candles lit? Or the lamp turned on?' She said.

Jimmy shook his head against the pillow.

'Very well. I'll leave you in peace… I truly am sorry James.' She gave his shoulder another reassuring rub before rising to leave.

Miles away in the grey bleakness of the prison of York, long after dark, Thomas stood resting his head against the metal grating that separated the cell from the gallery and cavernous hall below. His fellow occupant breathing heavily in a fitful but deep sleep on the bunks behind.

His mind likened the prospect below to an old Roman arena; the multiple floors of stacked cells, like the seats for spectators, surrounding the central hall where all manner of cruel displays were to be enacted.

Thomas wondered how he himself would fare in such an arena come the morning of his first full day of incarceration.

He mused at his having made it through the ordeal of arrest, transportation and the dehumanising experience of the initial imprisonment with barely any emotional response at all. And he gave thanks that he had managed to pass the rest of the day, for the most part, in a disassociated numbness.

Thomas hissed in pain as the nail of his right hand caught on a line of rust on the bars in front of him, momentarily jerking his focus back to the present. He sucked the injured finger in his mouth as his mind turned back to the events of the day.

When he had first been locked into the cell it had been empty, the rest of the inmates out conducting their afternoon work. As his thoughts were apt to do, Thomas had found himself focusing on the irritation given by a snagged nail rather than the situation at hand. In an effort to relieve the discomfort, he had run his fingers along the rough slabs of the cell wall to buff the offending nail down. But a brief surge of frustration as the true implications of his situation pushed to the forefront of his mind caused him to give the stone a single violent scrape before he could suppress them. He managed to split the nail and take some of the skin off the next finger. He sat staring at the resulting droplets of blood for some time, only roused when the door was propelled open to admit the cell's other occupant.

The other prisoner was a large, portly man. Clearly the type that the coarse grey prison uniforms were designed for, rather than someone of Thomas's average build (although, on viewing the line of prisoners shuffling past the cell, he did note a few practically skeletal beings at the other end of the scale of extremes).

'God, you look like an indoor cat and no mistake!' Said the man gruffly as he spied Thomas, sweeping a quick gaze over Thomas's pale skin and the style of his hair (which had clung on grimly through the day due to the excess of pomade). 'Don't often see your sort here. Who messed up your face?' He said as Thomas turned to look at him.

From the tone of his voice Thomas mentally placed him into the 'hopeless imbecile' rather than 'malicious thug' category, much to his personal relief.

'Just some bloke.' Replied Thomas, indulging the full richness of his Yorkshire accent for the first time in years. 'Caught me in the kip with his wife and came at me hell for leather. I laid him out and…' Thomas indicated their surroundings in conclusion.

The other man gave a hearty laugh.

'Well if there's ever a good cause to end up in here, I'd say it's for the favors of a good woman!'

The haunting sound of sobbing echoing from the cells below jerked Thomas out of the process of reliving the day's events.

He watched his frosted breath escape out of his mouth and through the cell bars to fade away in the dark bleakness beyond.

A combination of the damp cold, and the absence of his habitual glove, had Thomas's gun-shot wounded palm aching terribly. He tested the hand with a few flexes and was distressed to note it had all but seized up, which didn't bode well for the following day depending on what task force he wound up assigned to. Glancing down, he fought the urge to pick at the remaining scabs from the injuries Crowborough had inflicted.

He shook his head to dispel the notion, his gaze coming to rest on the injuries he had inflicted himself on the fingers of his other hand that afternoon. He bit down on his lip, tasting iron as he accidently opened up the barely healed split from having been thrown against a wall the night before.

'Bollocks…' He whispered, resting his head back against the cold bars. 'I'll tear myself to pieces if I end up staying here...'

_[Well you're definitely here for a while aren't you…?]_

Thomas ran his tongue over the re-opened cut on his lower lip. He sighed.

He recalled his promise to Lord Grantham (somewhere amid a torrent of abuse that had completely broken him despite being based on a falsehood, perhaps primarily because it WAS based on a falsehood…a falsehood that no one seemed to have any trouble believing) to accept the charge of assault and to plead guilty on trial.

_How long would that keep me in here?_

_Weeks…months…? It's not like I've money to pay a fine._

_For that matter, how long till I bloody go to trial in the first place?_

_[Come on Thomas, do you really have anywhere better to be?]_

_[Food and shelter…not something you are going to be able to provide for yourself anymore.]_

_[You'd be better off thinking of how to EXTEND your stay.]_

He shivered, taking in the utter bleakness of his surroundings before screwing his eyes shut in despair at the realisation that this oppressive edifice was where his journey had well and truly come to an end.

_[And Jimmy…?]_

_He's safe. That's something._

_[Is he really?]_

_If they give half as much sympathy and love to him as they gave disgust and hate to me…_

_He'll be happy._

_[Will he?]_

_[How much time and effort did it take for you to get him to open up, to feel, to hope? How much had to happen before he could overcome his fear?]_

_[You KNOW he was still a long way from whole.]_

_[You KNOW he will live in the shadow of what's happened to you every day of his life.]_

_[You KNOW his life will be tainted by fear, by inaction, by despair, by disillusionment.]_

_[You KNOW this will take him beyond the reach of you…or anybody else.]_

_[The one thing you've done for him is prove that he was right all along.]_

_[Men can't love men.]_

When the guard made his rounds later that night he found Thomas still standing at the cell bars crying softly with his head bowed.

'Lights are out!' The guard said harshly. 'Get back to bed!' His baton struck the side of the bars with a loud clang (rousing several occupants in neighboring cells who shouted in irritation, though somehow Thomas's cell mate remained asleep).

Thomas immediately stumbled back to the bunk.

He was quite unable to achieve anything even close to sleep for the rest of the miserable night.


	49. Chapter 49

Very early the next morning, Jimmy finally succeeded in extracting his back off of the mattress for long enough to get his feet on the floor. Lurching rather than walking he made his way across his room.

He managed to bend down to locate a piece of paper and pen in his bureau drawer without incident. However, the floor seemed to swim under his feet as his already stretched reserves completely occupied themselves with uncapping the pen. He gripped the bureau for support and took some shaky breaths before continuing with the task at hand.

Leaning his elbow heavily over the bureau top, knocking off several items in the process, he brought his hand down to write.

He wrote to beg a meeting with Lord Grantham and Mr Crawley…an  _urgent_ meeting.

His breath quickened in discomfort at the prospect but he quelled the emotion with all his might, fighting off the sudden urge to vomit as his head began to feel impossibly heavy.

The handwriting was terrible and the prose inelegant, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. He folded the note, hands still unsteady, missing the half-way mark of the paper by at least an inch.

He leaned all his weight onto the bureau to rest, desiring nothing more than to sink to the floor but knowing he was unlikely to be able to get back up again under his own steam if he did.

When he felt able, he slowly turned round to look over at his door.

He mentally steeled himself before stumbling over to it.

First clinging on to the door knob, then the wall outside, he made his way down the corridor, giving thanks that there was no one in sight.

He quelled another violent urge to be sick as he stood outside Molesley's room before raising his hand to knock.

Molesley took in the sight of Jimmy in his bedraggled, pyjama clad, bare-footed state with surprise.

'James…you're looking well!' He said, mustering a very unconvincing smile that Jimmy had no doubt was  _meant_ to be reassuring.

Jimmy swayed a little on his feet, catching the doorframe to keep himself upright.

'Could you please give this note to Mr Crawley when you dress him this morning?' He said, handing the poorly folded paper over to Molesley. 'It's very important.'

Molesley looked skeptically down at the note. 'I will if you insist, but you ought not to be worrying about things at the moment. Not until you're recovered.' He said, again attempting to look reassuring.

Jimmy regarded his expression carefully.

'Were you there?' He said quietly.

The forced cheerfulness fell away from Molesley's face. He gave a slight nod.

'Who else was?' Jimmy asked.

'Well…myself, Alfred…one of the hall boys…Brett, I think his name is…and Mr Carson.' Said Molesley, looking at the floor in discomfort.

Jimmy grimaced at the list of names, in particular Carson's.

'Also…' Molesley continued. 'From the way she was trying to corner Mr Carson yesterday, I'd say it's a fair bet that Mrs Hughes is aware of the particulars. But we have all been sworn to the strictest secrecy. Although, gossip is rife downstairs about Mr Barrow getting arrested, I can tell you!' Exclaimed Molesley with a nervous laugh that died in his throat at a dark look from Jimmy.

'James!' Mr Carson's voice sounded from down the corridor. 'You are supposed to be in bed!'

Doing his best to look steady on his feet, Jimmy turned towards him.

'I'm sorry Mr Carson. I just wanted a quick talk with Mr Molesley.' He said softly.

Behind him, Molesley gave Carson a smile that was intended to indicate he had the situation under control.

Mr Carson clearly did not find this in the least bit reassuring.

'You will please return to bed, James.' He said, with none of the sternness of his usual reproaches.

Jimmy gingerly made his way back to his room, trying with all his might to avoid using the wall as a prop under the gaze of Mr Carson (eager to be thought of as at least partially recovered, should Lord Grantham actually agree to meet with him).

He fell asleep the instant his head reconnected with his pillow and slept through till lunch time (doing his level best to eat every scrap on the plate that Gill brought up, as further evidence to convince Carson he was on the mend).

He attempted to go back to sleep, but his digestive system writhed in protest at having been force fed.

After several hours of uncomfortable dozing, Mr Carson came to visit him.

Jimmy sat up, trying to look alert (and not in any way dizzy and nauseous).

'James, it would appear that Lord Grantham has requested to see you after dinner this evening.' Said Carson, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he grappled with the rare instance of disagreeing with an order from His Lordship.

Jimmy tried his best to keep his expression neutral despite the fear and elation that suddenly occupied his mind in equal measure.

_Oh thank God!_

'Now I tried to convince His Lordship that it would be unreasonable to expect you to attend a meeting given your…current condition…'

_No, no, no…_

'…but he was most insistent.' Finished Carson.

'That's quite alright Mr Carson.' Said Jimmy.

Carson nodded, still looking highly dubious, and went to leave.

'Mr Carson!' Jimmy called out. 'Could you…could you ask Alfred to help me get dressed later?' He said reluctantly, aware that the task of getting into his clothes would probably sap what little energy reserves he had before he could even make it to Lord Grantham.

'I believe that can be arranged.' Said Carson gruffly before leaving.

That evening as he stood outside the door to the dining room, Jimmy found himself glad of the pounding wooziness in his head. He would have done backflips for a shot of something alcoholic to settle his nerves before the meeting, but the remnants of concussion were having a similar enough effect and dulling at least some of the anxiety.

He bowed his head a little and breathed deeply, looking down at the grey suit he had asked Alfred to help him into. He had decided that wearing his own clothes rather than his uniform would send the message that he understood his time at Downton had come to a close.

_No need to pretend ignorance on THAT account…_

_But, I know what I'm going to say, and I have to say it._

_I HAVE TO._

_…and I can deal with the consequences._

_[Only if you succeed in convincing them that THOMAS shouldn't have to... What if you can't?]_

_…_

_I have to try._

He shook his head to dispel the unwelcome negativity, and regretted it abruptly when his balance temporarily failed and caused him to grasp at the nearby cabinet.

_Ok, breath, no need to be nervous. You have a plan._

_Besides…_

_[It's not like there's much you don't have the confidence to do in a room full of…]_

Jimmy riled at the unwelcome thought.

_This is bloody different._

_[True. No tricks to hide behind here.]_

_[Gentlemen, for the first time, and for one night only, we present the actual 'Jimmy Kent'!]_

_[And may God have mercy on his soul…]_

Jimmy shuddered.

The door opened to reveal Carson emerging with an empty tray.

'James, I believe Lord Grantham and Mr Crawley are ready to receive you.' He said, noting Jimmy's clothes with concern.

Before he had the chance to say anything about his outfit choice, Jimmy quickly pushed past him into the dining room. He was thankful that avoiding Carson gave him the impetus to actually enter the room…he wasn't completely sure if he would have made it otherwise.

In the room, Robert and Matthew sat at the side of the table (cigars and brandys in hand) looking like an opulent painting in the warm glow of the lamp-lights. To the impartial observer, the sight was amiable and inviting, to Jimmy (intensely out of place in his gray suit) it merely served to remind him that he was treading a dangerous line and dealing with people with the power to hurt him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Robert instantly discarded his cigar and his drink and walked over to meet Jimmy as he crossed the room.

'James, I must say to you how very sorry I am!' He said earnestly, his face fretful.

'As am I.' Matthew's voice echoed behind him, having also risen from his seat.

Jimmy was momentarily rendered speechless by the vigor of the sentiment and absolutely tortured by the concern in their expressions (although he did note a hint of confusion in Matthew's look, no doubt given what he had witnessed the night before Christmas Eve).

'No, that's not…' He eventually choked out, his already aching head growing thick with frustration.

'James…' Robert cut in. 'I deeply regret my own part in the matter…'

'No. Don't say that! It isn't true!' Jimmy suddenly shouted, the speech he had carefully prepared that evening having completely fled his mind at Robert's misplaced distress.

'But I am sorry, James. You must believe me. I  _know_  it was at my insistence that Mr Barrow was allowed to stay, and…'

'You don't need to be sorry. I asked for it!' Said Jimmy desperately.

He realised his words had been grossly misinterpreted as Robert's concern deepened. 'James, you made your feelings about Mr Barrow perfectly clear. No one could accuse you of…'

'I mean I was WILLING!' He blurted out.

Finally Robert was rendered silent.

'More than willing.' Jimmy continued softly, looking down at the floor which was suddenly feeling very unstable under his feet.

Staring at Jimmy in utter confusion, both Robert and Matthew retreated back into their seats. In the brief quiet, Jimmy took a much needed moment to collect his thoughts. Fighting back the rising panic as his heart rate quickened in his chest.

'But…' Robert eventually broke the silence. 'They said that…you were on the floor…screaming.'

Jimmy swallowed.

'We'd had an argument and then…we got a bit carried away.' He said, nervously meeting Robert's eyes which suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates.

'Do you honestly mean to tell me…?' Robert trailed off.

'We started out on the bed!' Said Jimmy before cursing his muddied state of mind for thinking that was in any way relevant or going to help the situation at hand. He swayed slightly on his feet, remaining standing by pure force of will.

'Crikey…' Was all Matthew could come up with, also looking shocked, his somewhat limited worldview having clearly been widened in way than one.

Robert reached for his glass and took a very deep swig of brandy.

'Why did you request this meeting James?' He said.

_Christ, here we go…_

'I wanted to meet with you to ask you to have Mr Barrow…Thomas…released from prison.' Said Jimmy, biting his lip to dispel the unwanted tremble that had appeared.

'So…' Robert began, his reasonably calm expression (fixed on his brandy glass rather than Jimmy) clearly indicating that his mind hadn't yet fully processed the situation. '…what you are saying is that the two of you have indulged in wanton, carnal, not to mention criminal, relations within my household…and you expect this information to lead me to reprieve Thomas?' Robert took another swig of brandy, his voice suddenly growing stronger. 'I fail to see what help you think you can give him when your words, if true, DAMN the both of you.'

Jimmy jumped at Robert's shout.

'They may well damn me, but they shouldn't damn him.' Said Jimmy, his voice somehow perfectly level but several octaves off it's usual sound. 'I'm the one who was 'wanton' as you say. Not him. He'd never done anything like that and I…I kept throwing myself at him and he kept refusing until…' Jimmy paused, not ready to end that particular sentence just yet. 'The situation is entirely of my making, and I deserve the blame, not him. I led him astray.'

Robert shook his head, his expression softening ever so slightly. 'I don't understand why you are lying for him, James. I can only deduce that he has taken advantage of your youthful ignorance and addled your mind.' Said Robert sternly. 'Given your expressed revulsion to the kiss he forced on you last year, do honestly expect anyone to believe that  _you_ were the one who seduced  _him_  into an act of buggery?'

Jimmy fumbled clumsily in the pocket of his jacket, finally drawing out a piece of paper.

He held it out to Robert.

'What's this?' Said Robert, taking it from him.

'Evidence.' Jimmy replied, unable to suppress the shiver than ran through his whole body but attempting to disguise it by cramming his hands into his trouser pockets.

Robert regarded the document skeptically. 'This…this was written by the Duke of Crowborough.'

Jimmy noticed Matthew suddenly sitting bolt upright in his seat.

Robert's brow furrowed as he read. 'A reference. But it says you served him for months!'

Jimmy nodded. 'And…you know I didn't.' He said, eyeing Robert nervously.

Matthew reached to take the document from Robert, glancing over it's contents himself.

'I think, James, that an explanation is in order.' Said Robert in a low voice. 'And believe me when I say, I expect a  _full_ explanation.'

'Yes, everything we don't  _already_  know.' Said Matthew, with a very pointed look at Jimmy. Jimmy returned his look with a small nod to reassure him that the manner of the Duke's death was not pertinent to the situation.

Feeling overwhelmingly unsteady on his feet, Jimmy persevered with standing across from the two men.

_Remember who this is for..._

With a deep breath, he began to speak.

'I have engaged in…improper relations with men. It's something I have been doing since the end of the war. My disgust at Thomas's actions towards me last year is because I have always been of the opinion that relations between men are, whatever people pretend otherwise, merely for physical pleasure and nothing more. He made it clear that he had feelings for me, and I was very angry at him for…for trying to make me feel something I didn't believe could be possible. I had been in a relationship with a man after the war, where I was just used for carnal relations and I convinced myself that was all that was possible between men. I…sold it, sold myself, for a while. And that's what that there…' He indicated the document in Matthew's hands. '…is. I was resolved when I came here from the Dowager's to pursue proper employment, but I wanted to cover all the bases just in case. So when the Duke expressed an interest couldn't help but agree to take that from him in exchange for…' Jimmy trailed off.

'You prostituted yourself to the Duke?' Said Matthew incredulously, brows knitted in confusion.

'You vile scum!' Robert cut in. Spittle flew from Robert's mouth as a far deeper rage than that with which he had confronted Edith earlier in the week burst forth. 'You gain employment here by misrepresenting yourself utterly and then proceed to abuse the chance given to you by...by WHORING while under my employ, risking the reputation of my household! How can you stand there and brazenly speak of such disgusting behavior?'

'I disgust myself!' Shouted Jimmy desperately. 'And I will leave Downton immediately, or you can call the police if you want, but I need you to believe that I am the licentious one, not Thomas.'

'I won't deny that you certainly make a convincing case on that account!' Said Robert viciously. 'But I still don't see how you think this will benefit him. His transgressions may not be as damning as your own, but in giving in to this…' Robert's shaking hands flicked towards Jimmy as he hunted for an appropriate word. '…temptation is irredeemably disrespectful, not to mention criminal!'

'I…' Jimmy suddenly felt as though he were about to keel over. 'I just hope that, when you understand his motives, that you will overlook that.' His voice broke.

'Get to the point James.' Said Robert dangerously.

'What I need you to know is that Thomas does nothing except for love. Pure love. When I began to believe his feelings might be true, and that I had feelings for him, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I tried to seduce him. Again and again he rejected me, until…until he was sure I realised what it was supposed to truly mean.' Jimmy's legs finally gave out, forcing him to stumble to the table to clasp the back of one of the chairs, but he refused to be deterred. 'With him, it's like how things should be. He hasn't done anything like this before, and he wouldn't consent to be with me until he was sure that there was real love there…not just some passing fancy or base urge. He's not like that. And yes, I know relations outside of marriage and procreation are sinful and so does he…but we don't  _have_  that option. We love each other like man and wife, and if it were lawful we would live together as such. Thomas is a victim of the system…and of me. I will leave tomorrow if you wish, just please please help him.' He finished, taking shallow gasps as he remained gripping the back of the chair for support.

The ensuing silence was total.

At length, Robert spoke. 'James, leave the room. Wait outside.'

Jimmy put himself to rights, trying to read some hint in Robert's expression as to whether his words had achieved anything. But Robert's face was utterly blank.

Jimmy nodded quickly, moving across the room and closing the door softly behind himself. He sunk to the floor outside and sat with his back pressed up against the wood of the nearby cabinet still trying to get his breathing under control.

Inside the dining room, the silence continued.

Robert rose from his chair to cross over to the mantelpiece, absently fiddling with one of the ornaments there as Matthew stared uncomfortably into the distance.

'I don't know what to think.' Said Robert eventually. Scraping the small china bowl in his hand over the wood of the mantelpiece.

'Nor I.' Replied Matthew, performing a similar move with his brandy glass on the dining table. 'Although I do concede that it is a damnable situation for them. I find myself rather convinced of the sincerity of James's words as regards to there being…a genuine love there.'

'That type of love is not accepted by doctrine or the law, Matthew.' Said Robert wearily.

'Neither is that proposed by Edith and Michael.' Said Matthew. 'But you must concede that if she is willing to risk the censure of her family and society then it exists in that case despite all impediments.'

'I do not deny the existence of love outside of doctrine, I merely think of the practical reality. I have no doubt that Edith will do as she will, and I do hope that in time I will think Gregson worthy of her, and if he doesn't she will always know security here…society be damned. And I do mean to tell her that.' Robert sighed deeply before continuing. 'But this…I confess I find myself somewhat moved by James's willingness to throw himself to the wolves on Thomas's behalf, but James's actions…'

'Yes, that was…unexpected.' Said Matthew with a small laugh, attempting to break Robert's dark mood.

Robert gave a single bitter snort, but otherwise declined to respond.

'I think that…whatever is done about James, we ought to look into getting Thomas released.' Said Matthew tentatively. 'He doesn't deserve what has happened to him.'

Robert nodded.

'Robert, what are you thinking?' Said Matthew.

'I'm…' Robert leaned his elbows against the mantle and dropped his head into his hands. 'I'm thinking about the things I said to Thomas, on that  _creature's_  behalf, before the police came to take him. Utterly unforgivable things, Matthew. He has given most of his life to Downton, years of loyal and attentive service, and I repay him by believing he could…' Robert gave a quiet sound very akin to a sob.

'What else could you do?' Said Matthew softly. 'The evidence, at the time, seemed very clear. The important thing is how we can move forward and fix this situation.'

'Therein lies the problem, Matthew. I'm not convinced that it is in my power to do so. I can get him released, yes, but how could he possibly want to be reinstated here knowing that we all believed him capable of rape? How could amends  _possibly_ be made on that account? And after what the staff have seen him do…it was a criminal act, a serious one. Sexual relations between staff outside of marriage is an offence that carries the penalty of instant dismissal.'

'I think…' Matthew spoke with extreme caution, standing up to join Robert. 'That the answer to these problems is just outside the door.' He inclined his head to indicate the dining room door that James had exited through.

Robert looked at him quizzically.

'Robert, what better way to make amends to Thomas than to keep James here?'

Robert riled in anger. 'Are you honestly suggesting I keep a man who has admitted to prostituted himself, while in this house no less, on the staff?'

'I suppose I am.' Said Matthew. 'Has he not redeemed his character somewhat with this display tonight? He knows he's put his job, and freedom, on the line. He was under no obligation to implicate himself so completely, was he? What I heard tonight was the story of a boy who has been ill used to the point of insanity, and yet he has been pulled from the brink by Thomas's kindness. And in return he is willing to risk everything for him. I think we can be quite sure that he will not stray from the path again.' Robert shook his head in disbelief, but Matthew continued undaunted. 'And if Thomas is to be accepted back, then let James confess the truth. Let him convince them what he has convinced us; that he and Thomas are as man and wife in all but name and have not acted improperly.'

'But they  _have_  acted improperly.' Said Robert. 'They can never be together in that way, not under my roof.'

'I understand that Robert. I merely suggest that if the staff have any humanity in them, then they will sympathise with the situation and that will allow Thomas to be accepted back. Just think about how…'

Outside the door, Jimmy was all but asleep when he heard the call for him to re-enter the room almost half an hour later. How he managed to get up off the floor, he never knew, and it was with great relief that he noted Robert motioning him into a chair when he re-entered the room. He sat down and bowed his head.

'Mr Crawley and I have debated the matter, James.' Said Robert, pacing the floor in front of him. 'I don't think I need to tell you what  _ought_  to happen based on the actions of both yourself and Mr Barrow. But…I will take action to have Mr Barrow released from prison and I am willing to  _consider_  the possibility of you both remaining here at Downton.'

Jimmy's head snapped up.

'However, this rests upon three conditions. Firstly, that you will confess the particulars of the situation to the staff who were unfortunate enough to witness your transgression with Mr Barrow. You will not enlighten them as to your…dealings with regards to the Duke, or any others, and I expect you to keep the dignity of both yourself and Mr Barrow in mind. You have my support, but I must stress that the onus is on you alone to convince them to accept the presence of both yourself and Mr Barrow here at Downton.'

Jimmy nodded vigorously, eyes wide.

'Secondly, you yourself will only remain at Downton if it is Mr Barrow's expressed wish. Be under no illusions that I wish to keep you here. Your continued presence would be entirely a favor to Mr Barrow to go some way towards making amends for the abuse he was made to suffer at the hands of myself and the staff on  _your_  behalf.' Jimmy flinched involuntarily. 'And I expect you to keep that always in your mind, and to reflect this second, and might I add  _final_ , chance in your work ethic.'

'Yes, My Lord. Every day, My Lord' Said Jimmy quickly.

'And lastly, there will be no more indiscretions of any kind while you are both under my roof. By that, I mean there will be no relations of a criminal nature between yourself and Mr Barrow. I acknowledge that this is a cruel situation, but so it must be. If there is even the slightest hint that you ever engage in such activities again, the two of you will be immediately thrown out of your employ here at Downton.'

Jimmy nodded, more slowly this time.

'What you choose to do at your own risk on your day off,  _away_  from Downton, is your own business.' Robert added, with a pointed look at Jimmy that was not completely devoid of sympathy.

Jimmy stared at him in utter disbelief, his eyes full of wonder.

'But know that once this matter is at a close, I have put myself on the line for the last time. The absolute last time. Should any future issues arise I will not intervene on your behalf.' Finished Robert, glaring down at him.

'Of course My Lord.' Said Jimmy breathlessly. 'Thank you, thank you so much!'

Robert dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

'We will hold a meeting tomorrow morning for the staff involved.' He said curtly. 'I will telephone Murray tomorrow afternoon to begin the process of reprieving Mr Barrow. Now, I believe this concludes our business for the evening…'

'Robert…' Matthew cut in. 'I wondered if I might have a quick word with James before joining you and the others.'

Robert gave a slight frown.

Jimmy sighed internally, he had a feeling he knew exactly what Matthew wanted to speak to him about.

'Of course.' Said Robert, before making his way over to the door. 'And James, don't ever give me cause to regret this decision.' He said sternly over his shoulder before leaving.

Matthew reached to retrieve the Duke's reference from the table.

'Tell me, how does what happened to Thomas fit in with this?' He said, holding the document with two fingers as though the paper itself was dirty.

Jimmy's face crumpled. 'What happened that night was my fault too.' He sniffed.

'How so?' Said Matthew levelly.

'The Duke threatened to expose my past indiscretions if Thomas didn't consent to…' He couldn't finish that particular sentence. 'But I realised what was happening just in time to stop it.'

Matthew nodded slowly. 'Well…' He said. 'The two of you certainly make an astonishing self-sacrificing pair, don't you?'

Jimmy stared miserably at the floor. 'I've put him through hell.' He choked out. The tears he had been struggling to keep under control for the entire uncomfortable evening finally broke through the emotional dam.

Matthew leaned forward in his seat to clasp one of James's trembling hands.

'I think you are on the road to repaying him.' He said gently.


	50. Chapter 50

Jimmy sat silently, legs hooked over the side of his bed, slowly processing the evening's events.

_That went…well._

He exhaled slowly, absently flexing the hand that Matthew had grasped earlier.

_Did it go well?_

Taking another deep breath, rocking back and forth ever so slightly, Jimmy tried to place the feeling of doom that had persisted on the seemingly endless walk (stumble) back from the dining room.

He dearly wanted to dismiss his inability to celebrate the outcome of the meeting as simply a by-product of his crippling exhaustion, pounding headache and (largely impotent, albeit uncomfortable) nausea.

_What's the problem? Just a few more hoops to jump through._

_Thomas will be released, everyone will be sorry for misjudging him and he will have his job back._

_Exactly what I was hoping for._

_['Exactly'…?]_

Jimmy bit the inside of his cheek and turned his head sharply, as though it were possible to turn away from his own thoughts.

_Maybe I got a little more than I was hoping for._

_Maybe more than I…_

_[…wanted?]_

'Shit!' Jimmy whispered harshly in the empty room. The slight echo of the sound granted him a temporary reprieve, but it ultimately proved to be an equally useless attempt to avoid the unwelcome thoughts in his mind.

He sighed and shook his head.

There had been something comfortably simple about his plan to compel Lord Grantham to order Thomas's release from prison while he himself slunk off quietly into the distance. He had been prepared for that.

He wasn't prepared for the possibility that he might be allowed to remain at Downton with Thomas, and there (he tentatively admitted to himself) was where the problem resided.

Too exhausted by this point to sustain any kind of denial for long, Jimmy acknowledged that the problem wasn't the prospect of having to admit to his true feelings to everyone, not if it would help Thomas. Where his nerve was failing him was the prospect of fighting for his  _own_  place at Downton. The inevitable humiliation and disgrace of admitting his own partiality was somehow acceptable in Thomas's service, but not his own.

_Surely the two are one and the same?_

_This is a good thing. If I can pull this off then it's a good thing for both of us._

_We both keep our jobs, we both keep respectability…of a sort._

_We are BOTH reprieved._

_So why can't I get my head around…?_

_[Because YOU don't deserve it.]_

Jimmy hunched over as though he had been punched in the gut.

'Oh, sorry!' Alfred's voice spoke from the partially open door. 'Should I come back later?' He said awkwardly.

'No.' Jimmy righted himself with a sniff. 'No, I'm alright.'

Alfred gingerly stepped into the room. 'Well I was just coming to see if…if you needed help undressing as well.'

'Right…' Jimmy looked down at his gray suit through utterly fatigued eyes. 'Yes, I suppose I do. If that's alright.' He said softly.

Alfred gave him a sympathetic smile as he sunk to the floor to begin to attend to his shoe laces.

'Did the meeting go as you hoped?' He said, looking up at Jimmy.

'Well…' As he tried to speak a few unexpected tears escaped Jimmy's eyes. He screwed up his face and bowed his head in an entirely useless attempt to shield this development from Alfred given their respective positions.

'You didn't hand in your notice did you?' Said Alfred, his brow furrowed in concern. He pulled off Jimmy's shoes with more gusto than necessary as he continued. 'It's not right that you should have to suffer because of that  _bastard_.'

Jimmy blinked. He couldn't remember Alfred ever having used that particular word before. It stung.

'No, I didn't hand in my notice.' Said Jimmy quietly.

Alfred got up off the floor and eased him out of his jacket. 'Well that's something.' He said with a smile that was more grimace than merriment, quickly unknotting Jimmy's tie.

As Alfred began to work on his waistcoat, Jimmy's mind wandered back once again into the unwelcome territory of precisely why he was unhappy about the outcome of the meeting with Lord Grantham and Mr Crawley.

He grudgingly conceded that he was afraid. Afraid of believing that it might be possible for him to remain at Downton with Thomas, afraid that it most likely would  _not_  be possible for him to remain given the exceptionally deep hole he had dug for himself with regards to his very negative and very public reaction to Thomas's earlier 'attentions' .

But most of all he was afraid of what would happen to him if he truly allowed himself to  _hope_ that it would be possible for him to remain.

_[You know tonight wasn't just about you nobly sacrificing yourself and your position in order to get Thomas released.]_

_Of course it was._

_[Mostly…Yes, but not completely.]_

_It was nothing else._

_[Stop lying.]_

Alfred tugged on his upper arm to coax him up into a standing position. Lost in thought Jimmy allowed himself to be maneuvered, barely registering the waistcoat sliding off his shoulders or the return of Alfred's hands to his shirt front as he begin working the buttons loose.

_Please…_

_[You were HOPING they were going to throw you out.]_

_[You don't want to stay.]_

_[You want to slip back into your simple world where affection is nothing but an act with an agreed upon timescale and price.]_

_[You can't handle these new feelings…the possibility that there really is something more.]_

_[You still don't want to believe that kind of love is real.]_

_[Because then you will not only have to fear the possibility of LOSING It, which you inevitably will,…]_

_[…but you will also have to FINALLY acknowledge the true horror of what you have been doing to yourself these past years.]_

As though the cosmos was especially intent on ramming that particular point home, the thought coincided with the exact moment that Alfred swept open his now completely unbuttoned shirt, which sent Jimmy immediately into a nasty sense of Déjà vu centered around his first sexual encounter with the Duke.

He gasped in distress and (for want of any other way to dismiss the image) buried his face in Alfred's chest, leaving a very confused Alfred standing stock still, his arms wrapped round him, grasping the collar of the shirt he had only partially succeeded in pulling off of Jimmy's shoulders.

'Steady on!' Exclaimed Alfred. 'What's wrong?'

He stared uncomfortably at the opposite wall as Jimmy began to sob. When it became clear that Jimmy's state of distress was going to persist for the time being, Alfred clumsily moved his arms (one coming to rest on the soft fabric of Jimmy's undershirt at his shoulders, the other crumpling the bunched cotton of the partially removed shirt at his waist) to envelop him in a stiff hug.

They stayed that way for a good few minutes while, unbeknownst to Alfred, Jimmy fought an epic internal battle with himself.

'Alfred…' Said Jimmy tentatively as he eventually pulled away. 'Will you sit down for a minute?'

He indicated the chair by the bedside, finally allowing Alfred to remove the shirt entirely before sitting back down on the side of his bed.

'Alright.' Said Alfred slowly. His discomfort was palpable. 'But I don't really think I'm the person to speak to about…' He indicated the floor beneath him with a dark expression.

Jimmy drew himself fully onto the bed to rest against the head-board railings for support.

'I'm sorry. But it's really you that I need to talk to.' He said, uneasily (but confidently) meeting Alfred's gaze.


	51. Chapter 51

Jimmy rapidly discovered that his resolve to finally open up to Alfred did not easily translate itself into actual words. He opened and closed his mouth several times, even achieving a few vowel sounds at one point, but found himself at a complete loss as to how to begin. Thousands of potential angles from which to approach the issue swam across his mind, each as potentially catastrophic as the last.

'Look, let's just finish getting you ready for bed, eh? We can talk in the morning.' Said Alfred, sensing the potential for reprieve from the conversation in Jimmy's hesitation and keen to take the opportunity for escape.

'No. I need to talk to you first.' Said Jimmy. 'Before the others.'

'The others…?'

'Yes…' Jimmy ran his teeth over his lower lip. 'Because I think that I owe you a personal explanation and an apology. Multiple apologies, in fact. And despite what I've done, I really need you to help me. And I think you have more reason than the others to not  _want_  to help me, so…I think it is important to speak to you before the others.'

Alfred stared at him, sitting forward with his hands clasped in his lap, his face the picture of complete confusion. 'I'm going to need a bit more to go on, Jimmy.' Said Alfred.

'Alright.' Jimmy shook out the tension in his shoulders before speaking. 'But before I say anything else, I need to start apologising.'

Alfred sighed in exasperation but motioned for him to continue.

Jimmy spoke carefully. 'Firstly, I'm sorry that we have to have this conversation at all. It shouldn't be necessary, for multiple reasons, and it's been brought about by some stupid and careless behavior that shouldn't have become your problem or anyone else's.'

'Jimmy, what's going on?' Said Alfred gently. 'Are you trying to tell me that you think what happened was your fault?'

'Well, it's…Fuck!' Jimmy exclaimed, lowering his head to allow himself to be temporarily distracted by the way Alfred had begun to nervously wring his hands together. 'I honestly can't think of a way to begin that won't make you angry.' He eventually continued.

'Why would I be angry at you?'

'Because I've been lying.' Jimmy sniffed. 'Perhaps not lying outright, but certainly lying by omission and definitely lying in my actions.' He paused. 'I didn't want Thomas to kiss me when he did last year, I really didn't. But I shouldn't have acted the way I did afterwards. I shouldn't have said I was disgusted, I shouldn't have tried to ruin him for it, and I shouldn't have threatened to call the police.'

'Jimmy…It was your right to do that. And he deserved worse. And if Lord Grantham had let the police take him when I called them then this…' Alfred cleared his throat nervously. '…would have never happened.'

'Oh right…that…' Jimmy whispered to himself, somehow having temporarily forgotten the actual event that had given rise to this uncomfortable situation. At a complete loss for an elegant way to segue into the salient point, he simply whispered. 'It wasn't what it looked like.'

Alfred simply shook his head with raised eyebrows to indicate that he was still completely clueless as to what Jimmy was getting at.

'You all thought that was happening against my will because of how I've acted in the past, but the truth is that I'm like him, and I do…like him, and I wanted it.' The fear in Jimmy's eyes confirmed what he was trying to communicate to Alfred far better than his words could.

Alfred's expression moved slowly from incomprehension, to perplexion, to breaking realisation then, finally, terrible comprehension (which came with a strange blend of wide-eyed shock and a set jaw and tilt to the head that forewarned that an outburst was highly likely in the very near future).

In the face of Alfred's stunned silence, Jimmy speedily jumped into his second (partly speculative, but nevertheless hopeful) apology.

'You know what I think, Alfred.' He said quickly. 'I don't think you're prejudiced, not really. I think that you only reported Thomas then because of your Aunt and I think that you've hated him for months because of me, because of how I've acted. When I first met you, I admit I walked over you to take on the First Footman role and that was because I knew you wouldn't do anything about it. I knew you were kind and…not malicious, and I took advantage of that. I think if I hadn't acted like such a shit about what Thomas did back then, then you wouldn't have become this prejudiced  _thing_  that you are now, you wouldn't have become this angry towards him. And I'm sorry for that.' Jimmy finally paused. 'I seem to have a talent for ruining everyone that comes into contact with me.' He added in a small voice.

'What the hell Jimmy?' Alfred whispered hoarsely.

Unsure if anything he had just said had gotten through, Jimmy reluctantly continued. 'It's been in the making since before Christmas.' He tried not to squirm under Alfred's intense gaze. 'What you saw, in here, wasn't the first time we'd done that. I wanted it. We were on the floor because we fell of the bed, and those shouts were me…encouraging him. It was…feeling good and I wanted it to continue.'

'Oh JESUS Christ!' Alfred shouted as he stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping violently over the wooden floorboards as he did. Jimmy winced at the sound.

Alfred retreated a few steps away, hands up covering his ears as though he could un-hear Jimmy's words, as his entire body tremored. 'What the BLOODY HELL!?'

Jimmy stared at him sadly. 'So I suppose I was wrong about the prejudice being entirely my fault…?' He said bitterly for want of anything else to say.

Breathing rapidly, hands now on his hips as he resolutely avoided looking back at Jimmy, Alfred managed to get enough of a hold of himself to reply. 'No, you're right. I wouldn't have treated him like that if it wasn't for how you were acting.' Alfred was shaking very noticeably, clearly holding something back.

'But….?'

'How could you…let him do  _that_  to you? It's sick.' Said Alfred, screwing up his face in revulsion at the image of Thomas and Jimmy as they had appeared when he had entered the room.

'Have you ever been with anyone?' Jimmy asked tentatively, figuring there was very little to lose by this point.

Instead of flying off the handle as he expected, Alfred gave a slight shake of his head.

'Then I don't see how I can possibly make you understand.' Said Jimmy quietly.

'There is no 'understand'…' Said Alfred, staring incredulously at him, too traumatised to think up a full and proper sentence.

'Why are you disgusted, why really?

'It's a sin. It's against God!'

' _God_  isn't what's making you wrinkle your nose right now! You just don't understand the physical side of love, that's the real reason you're reacting this way.'

'How simple do you think I am?' Hissed Alfred. 'I don't need to have got my own end away to understand that what you were doing has NOTHING to do with making children. And THAT is what makes it disgusting, and wrong.'

Jimmy nodded slowly. 'Ok…It hasn't got anything to do with children…I can't argue with that.' He said quietly.

Alfred was momentarily taken aback by Jimmy's concession.

'It's just…' Jimmy searched for the words. 'It's nice to feel close to someone, really close. When you love them.'

'You think you love him.' Alfred said incredulously.

'I know I do.' Jimmy coughed. 'But anyway, that's beside the point. Just…when you think about a woman that you like, when you imagine what it would be like to be married to her, do you ever think about the things you would do together? Not all of that is just about children is it?'

'I don't know what you mean.' One look at Alfred's face confirmed to Jimmy that he wasn't being difficult; he actually genuinely had no idea.

Jimmy shifted uncomfortably. 'Well…I take it you are aware of the…mechanics.'

Alfred nodded. Jimmy was astonished at Alfred's apparent lack of shame at the subject of his own ineptitude and how surprisingly open he was to such a delicate discussion, to new information.

He took a moment to uncomfortably ponder how previous information on other subjects from less than reliable sources (i.e. himself and O'Brien) had likely done a far greater disservice to Alfred's oafish but ultimately good character than he had previously realised.

'So you know that there is a relatively small amount of your bodies that need to be engaged in the task for it to work. It's something you can do and still keep your night clothes on.'

'Yes, what's your point?'

Jimmy swallowed nervously. 'Wouldn't you prefer it if you and your wife  _didn't_ keep your night clothes on?'

Alfred sat back in his chair, appearing to give the question genuine thought. Jimmy couldn't help but notice the rising blush that spread over his cheeks as he considered the second option. Jimmy fancied that he could guess which particular lady's imaginary soft skin was causing Alfred to blush so.

Alfred returned his consciousness to the room with an overly emphasised fake cough.

'Alright…' Said Alfred. 'So?'

'So…it's not necessary to make children. But it's something that would make you both happier, make you feel closer. And besides…you will make love at least some of the time without producing children.' Said Jimmy. 'You might even choose to do so on purpose, just because it feels nice.' He ventured. 'What I'm saying is that sex is not just about children, it's also about being close to someone you love and I love him. That's what I'm trying to say.'

'You and him…It's not the same.' Said Alfred quietly. 'And it's not right.'

Jimmy met Alfred's eyes and was surprised at the level of sympathy he found there. He swallowed nervously, breaking the moment.

'I'm not asking you to accept it. I just need you to not actively oppose it.' Said Jimmy. 'I went to Lord Grantham tonight to ask him to have Thomas released from Prison…and reinstated here at Downton.' He noted Alfred stiffen at the last part. 'And that….' Jimmy pointed at Alfred's uncomfortable state. '…is why I am telling you all this. Because Thomas can't come back here unless you and the others stop thinking of him as a rapist.' They both flinched slightly at the last word.

'You told His Lordship that you and Thomas have been having it away and he agreed to have Thomas  _back_?' Said Alfred incredulously.

'I think that he felt bad for…whatever it was that he did and said to Thomas when he thought he had attacked me, before he got him arrested.' Said Jimmy with a grimace.

Alfred stared into the distance, his eyes widening as he recalled the events of that night.

'Alfred?' Jimmy clicked his fingers at him after a few long moments of silence to bring him back to the present.

'Did he really not deserve any of it?' Said Alfred, it wasn't really a question.

'What did you do?' Said Jimmy.

'I punched him.'

Jimmy bit his lip. 'Was he badly hurt…by the time the police came to get him?'

'Not badly. He was still walking and everything.' Said Alfred quietly.

Jimmy nodded gingerly.

'I don't…' Alfred resumed his staring. 'I don't understand why he didn't say anything. He never tried to tell us what happened.'

'Trying to protect me.' Jimmy replied ruefully.

'Jesus…' Breathed Alfred, sitting himself down at the foot of Jimmy's bed.

'So…what I need to do now, is get everyone together tomorrow and beg for forgiveness for what's happened already and promise that nothing of the sort will ever happen again so that people will let Thomas come back once he is released.'

'What about you?'

Jimmy shrugged. 'I can stay if the others accept it…and you, of course.'

Alfred nodded silently.

Jimmy drew his legs up to his chest. 'This is all my fault.' He said, more to himself than Alfred.

'That's not entirely fair. It's not just how you've acted that's made people turn against Mr Barrow and believe he could do something like that.' Alfred said, with a sideways glance at Jimmy. 'Mr Barrow doesn't often do himself any favors when it comes to displaying good character.'

'But he's kind, really he is.' Said Jimmy, clasping his bent legs tightly. 'And he's so gentle sometimes. But he's afraid. Always having to hide something…it makes him more guarded. It's hardened him into projecting this unpleasant façade…'

'I suppose he did save me from getting fired. He didn't have to.' Said Alfred quietly. 'Hey, Jimmy…?'

'Hmmmm?' Jimmy murmured into his knees.

'Is that why you're such an arse sometimes too?'

Jimmy glanced up at Alfred.

He felt the deadweight of dread suddenly lighten across his shoulders and heart at the mischievous smile he saw looking back at him.

'Did you just make a joke?' Said Jimmy.

'Well…only partially a joke.' Alfred teased.

'Oh…' Jimmy launched himself along the length of the bed, falling onto Alfred with significantly less grace than he would have liked as his head injury once again made its presence felt, crushing him in a second (and much more enthusiastic) hug.


	52. Chapter 52

Aside from a few minor hiccups Thomas had made it through his first full day and second night in York prison without incident. The reduced mobility in his left hand had made his progress at the assigned sack-cloth sewing work dangerously slow and his violent shivering in the freezing cold of the night had kept his room-mate awake, rendering the man somewhat less agreeable than he had been previously, but otherwise he thought he was doing well. The dull and dark demeanor with which he had conducted himself throughout the day, coupled with a propensity to burst into brief spats of almost manic laughter at his situation, had led the majority of inmates to avoid engaging with him in any way. He hadn't stood out for better or worse as far as the guards were concerned. Something Thomas dearly hoped would continue. But he read enough in the curious sideways glances and poorly shielded whispers to realise that he was currently in a sort of 'grace period' of initial observation while the others established his true character (i.e. the kick or be kicked type) and he wasn't sure he had the energy to project adequate menace to convince them to let him keep himself to himself for long. Still, he had managed to avoid injury or offence thusfar.

Unfortunately, as he stood at the communal wash-basins the next morning he (quite accidentally) managed a monumental cock up…which he had the horrible feeling would have lasting repercussions.

He had just completed the task of shaving, no mean feat given the inadequate razor, when the long bangs of his hair caught against his eye lashes.

As he swept the hair away from his face, only for it to fall straight back into his eyes again, the glint of the razor caught his eye.

There was nothing available for him as an inmate to use (or at least, nothing he was  _willing_ to use) to slick his hair back. Clearly his current hairstyle was untenable under the circumstances.

Bringing the razor blade up slightly he pondered whether he should accept the inevitable and hack of a few inches at the front. But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it.

He stared at the blade.

_Why not? Hair grows back, doesn't it?_

Sadly taking in the tiny reflection of himself in the blade, he acknowledged that the answer was simply that he wasn't ready to accept his new situation just yet. Whether it would eventually grow back or not, there was somehow something horribly  _final_ about the idea of modifying his physical appearance to accommodate his role as a prisoner.

_[But surely this IS final?]_

_[What are you expecting is going to happen?]_

_[What are you HOPING is going to…?]_

'Oi!' A loud voice rang out right beside his ear. He realised that one of the guards had been trying to get his attention. Clearly the men at the wash-stands either side of him had noticed. They were shooting him curious glances.

'You'd best not be thinking of taking the coward's way out, boy!' Shouted the guard, causing the rest of the room's occupants to look up at the unfolding drama.

Thomas woke from his reverie, setting the razor down quickly.

'I wasn't thinking anything of the sort!' Thomas replied quickly, force of habit compelling him to speak in the clipped and proper tones he was accustomed to using when reproached by Carson. He noted several of the inmates faces crease in astonishment at his voice. Thomas kicked himself. He had been deliberately trying to speak with all the commonness of his natural accent to avoid being associated with the Upper Classes. He had correctly deduced on his initial arrival that they, and those who served them, were not kindly thought of in such an establishment.

A sharp rap on his shoulders from the guard's baton made it clear that particular slip up was currently the least of his worries.

'Sir!' Thomas belatedly added. 'I weren't thinking nothing of the sort, Sir!'

'Think I'm a simpleton do you?' Hissed the guard into his ear. 'I saw what you were thinking.'

'No you sodding didn't!' Thomas blurted out without thinking (the subject of suicide not one Thomas was inclined to take lightly), cheeks red at the rapt attention of the other inmates.

_Oh God…I didn't just say that. Please tell me I didn't just..._

His response earned him two vicious hits to the ribs, which sent his hips forward to painfully collide with the wash basin in front of him.

'I'm sorry, Sir.' Thomas shouted out, halting the guard's hand as he prepared for a third strike.

'You'd do well to conduct yourself more carefully. ' Said the guard dangerously before moving back to take his post at the wash-room doorway.

Thomas gripped the wash basin, breathing heavily, trying to keep the pain of his bruised ribs from showing on his face.

He didn't dare look up to see how the other prisoners had reacted to the spectacle, although his skin crawled under the intensity of their scrutiny.

_At least I didn't tell him what I WAS thinking of doing._

_THAT wouldn't have ended well._

The image of himself with a shaved head caused a hysterical laugh to suddenly escape his throat.

The other prisoners quickly went back to their respective morning routines.


	53. Chapter 53

In the bright morning sunlight streaming through the Drawing Room windows, Jimmy stood with Matthew and Robert behind him (Robert leaning against the desk, Matthew perched awkwardly on the arm of the sofa) and Carson, Molesley, Alfred, Brett and (after an awkward explanation from Carson to Lord Grantham) Mrs Hughes standing in a straight line in front of him.

Jimmy felt like he was having an out of body experience.

Lord Grantham had somehow managed to speak for almost ten minutes about why all the meeting attendants had been gathered there…without  _actually_ giving away any information whatsoever…and somewhere amid the never ending flow of words Jimmy's brain had well and truly switched off.

'Over to you James.'

Jimmy jumped.

Finding every pair of eyes in the room suddenly swiveled in his direction; Jimmy fought the urge to fidget with his hands, shift about on his feet…or crawl under the desk and refuse to come back out.

'Thank you, Lord Grantham.' He said quietly.

Jimmy carefully regarded his audience.

Alfred and Brett were looking everywhere but towards him. Brett looked very uncomfortable in himself, clearly wishing he was elsewhere, Alfred's face had creased into a grimace in anticipation of the storm to come.

Mrs Hughes, Carson and Molesley however were looking at him expectantly, intently, and still with compassion and sympathy (that Jimmy highly suspected he was about to lose).

'Mr Barrow is innocent. I mean, obviously  _something_  did happen…as most of you saw…' Jimmy couldn't suppress a minor squirm at that point. '…but it wasn't what you think. And I'm very sorry that my previous actions led you to think it.'

He paused. He knew exactly what he should be saying.

_['Mr Barrow and I… we are together. I have grown to love him dearly and we have…']_

But instead the simplicity of vilification won out under the penetrating stares of the staff.

'I was the one who seduced him.' Jimmy whispered.

The sympathy directed towards him was immediately replaced by blank shock.

'Say again.' Said Mr Carson.

Jimmy noticed Alfred's grimace had deepened.

_['I love him…']_

'I seduced him.' Jimmy announced in a loud voice, as though orating to an entire theatre rather than a relatively average Drawing Room. 'First on the night of the servant's ball, then again two days later and again…the night we were discovered.'

'I  _beg_ your pardon!' Mrs Hughes said in astonishment.

Mr Carson shook his head slightly in disbelief as Molesley's eyes opened comically wide.

It took all of Jimmy's fortitude to remain standing, unflinching, staring back at them.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

Lord Grantham cleared his throat loudly.

'James came to speak to myself and Mr Crawley yesterday evening…' Said Robert with a (very) disappointed sideways look at Jimmy. '…to confess the true nature of the situation between himself and Mr Barrow. I believe on the basis of this information that Mr Barrow does not deserve what has befallen him, and therefore my intention is to have the charges against him dropped.'

Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes exchanged a look, unreadable to all in the room except to themselves.

'Goodness.' Said Molesley, with his trademark nervous laugh to break the uncomfortable silence.

'But he's still a….' Brett suddenly exclaimed, catching himself before actually vocalizing any one of the highly unpleasant words that could be used to describe Thomas's preference. The room rapidly returned to silence as Brett directed his gaze to the floor, berating himself for having drawn attention his way (and at having contradicted the  _Earl_ of all people).

'Let me be clear that Mr Barrow's  _preferences_  have been known to this household for many years, and I believe most occupants of this room will agree with my opinion that that in itself is not an offence that should be punishable by incarceration.' Said Lord Grantham as Brett seemed to shrink into himself.

'Your Lordship, I agree that in light of this…' Mr Carson stared at Jimmy as something suddenly strange and foreign. '…confession, that Mr Barrow has been unnecessarily ill-treated. And if you believe that despite his having given in to improper temptation…' Mr Carson's expression making it clear that he was dubious on that particular account. '…Mr Barrow does not deserve to be imprisoned then I of course support your decision. If you would care to instruct me as to what nature of reference you would like me to provide Mr Barrow with…'

'My intention is for Mr Barrow to be reinstated to his role here at Downton.'

'What!?' Mr Carson gruffly demanded, before holding himself in check. He glanced at Mrs Hughes (who, unfortunately for him, was actually looking pleasantly surprised at this revelation) and Molesley (whose face was utterly vacant and devoid of opinion) and then finally, his gaze came to settle on Alfred.

Confidently, Mr Carson waited for Alfred to speak.

As the seconds ticked by, the gaze of almost everyone came to settle on Alfred.

'That sounds about right.' Said Alfred easily. 'When do you suppose he will be back?'

Lord Grantham blinked in surprise.

Jimmy mouthed a silent 'thank you' at Alfred as Carson (suddenly feeling a coronary coming on at the certainty that logic had temporarily fled Downton, and that he alone was left to be the voice of reason) began to speak again.

'Your Lordship, I am not often at odds with your wishes, but need I remind you of the extensive catalogue of misdeeds which Mr Barrow has  _already_  been forgiven throughout the years. Stealing, bullying, abusing a position of power, dealing on the Black Market…'

'I believe his exemplary work on being appointed as my Valet has set the tone for a turnaround in his character.' Said Robert sternly, making it clear to everyone in the room that further disagreement was at their own peril.

'Well…said Mrs Hughes. 'It would appear we have got the measure of the situation.' She said with a glance towards Mr Carson.

'Yes.' Mr Carson gruffly agreed. 'I take it James will not be required to serve out his notice period.' He continued, addressing Lord Grantham, finding Jimmy suddenly unworthy of acknowledgement in any form.

'James's future here remains under consideration.' Said Robert.

That particular statement very nearly put an end to Mr Carson, he fell back theatrically in shock, rattling the silver plates on the cabinet behind him as his back bumped against the wood.

Mrs Hughes followed Mr Carson's movements with concern until he put himself to rights, before sharply turning back to Lord Grantham. 'My Lord, I believe you will agree I am a tolerant person, however I cannot understand how indecent relations of this nature can be overlooked when you consider that other members of staff have been dismissed for…less.'

Robert looked at Jimmy pointedly.

Jimmy found himself rendered completely mute.

Robert shook his head sadly in exasperation.

'James…' Matthew said reproachfully, going against his earlier assertion that he would be present in a strictly observational capacity.

Jimmy looked back at Robert and Matthew, eyes full of apology. As he turned back to face his jury, he began to shake slightly. He noticed that Alfred was also shooting him a disappointed (albeit confused) look.

'James…' Matthew said again, more firmly this time.

'I can't…' Said Jimmy, his voice breaking to a high whisper.

'Well, we will be sure to pass that message on to Mr Barrow when we inform him of your departure.' Said Robert acrimoniously before turning back to the rest of the assembled staff.

Jimmy's breathing became increasingly shallow.

'Now…' Robert continued. 'If there are no more questions or comments, it would seem this matter is at a close. I trust I do not need to stress that this discussion goes no further than the walls of this room and assure you that the penalties of indiscretion will be dire indeed. Thank you, that will be….'

'Wait!' Jimmy shouted with a pained sob. 'Please…' He didn't recognise the voice emerging from his own throat. 'I will explain. I will.'

Robert shot him a skeptical look, but motioned to indicate that the floor was his.

Somehow Jimmy found the words.

'I love him and I believe he loves me. I take the blame entirely for pushing for…a physical intimacy. But it wasn't licentious; it was an expression of love.'

Everyone struggled to keep up with the speed with which he was speaking.

'Believing yourself to be in love does not make such behavior permissible.' Said Mrs Hughes reproachfully. 'And I say again, that such naïve thoughts and the resulting impropriety have led to the ruin of more than one staff member during my time in this household.'

Mr Carson nodded in stern agreement next to her.

'But, I presume, they had the  _option_  of propriety.' Said James, his voice finally stronger. 'They can marry and make an acceptable life together, if the attachment is sincere.'

'Your Lordship, you cannot be serious in condoning these actions!' Said Carson, speaking over Jimmy's head.

'Indeed I am not.' Said Robert levelly.

'I know that we were wrong to do what we did.' Jimmy said, taking a few steps towards Carson to force him to acknowledge him. 'And I am sorry for the stress and discomfort and….disaster…that has been caused.' Jimmy stepped back and swept his eyes over the others. 'I cannot justify my actions, I only wish to explain them and promise that nothing of this sort will ever occur again. I have already given my word to His Lordship and Mr Crawley on that account. I just...I need to be near him. You can't imagine the journey I have made to get to where I am and I  _cannot_  walk away now.'

'You have been nothing but trouble to all of us since the day you walked through the door. I believe Mr Barrow, and this household, deserve better.' Said Mrs Hughes sternly.

'That is why…' Robert cut in, finally satisfied with Jimmy's level of commitment. '…I am leaving the final decision on this matter to Mr Barrow.'

'Your Lordship, I don't trust that in this matter he is able to properly judge what's best for him.' Mrs Hughes responded angrily.

'I believe James's willingness to implicate himself in aid of Mr Barrow, given the extremely sensitive nature of the situation, goes some way towards re-establishing his character.' Matthew cut in.

Robert raised a hand to silence him.

'I believe Mr Barrow is entitled to make this decision for himself given what has occurred.' Said Robert firmly. 'It will go a small way towards making amends for the undeserved trauma he has been put through. Mrs Hughes, I of course exempt you from this statement, but I think every other person present should take a moment to consider what we have collectively done, based on incorrect and vicious assumptions. Now as to the matter at hand, it is my understanding that James's work has been exemplary, whatever issues he may have caused in his personal conduct downstairs. Of course, working in an establishment like this, it is a delicate matter to keep such things from impacting on others and on work. Clearly in this case he has failed to do so; behaving carelessly and inappropriately. So long as he appreciates his errors and ensures his conduct is beyond reproach in the future, I would consider the lesson well learned and the matter at a close.'

The silence of all present indicated that a begrudging acceptance (of what Lord Grantham had clearly already decided) had been achieved.

'My Lord.' Carson's voice rang out in the tense atmosphere. 'I will of course acquiesce to your wishes. However, under the circumstances, I believe that it would be unreasonable for James's actions to go unpunished. Your Lordship is aware of my feelings regarding the current staffing arrangement; I propose that the time is right to reverse the roles of Alfred and James in the staffing hierarchy.'

'Of course.' Jimmy spoke out quickly before Robert had the chance to respond.

Mrs Hughes raised her eyebrows in surprise, regarding Jimmy in an ever so slightly different light.

Robert nodded brusquely, although the look he shot Mr Carson made it clear that taking any further liberties would be inadvisable.

'Marvelous.' Said Robert eventually. 'Do we all have an understanding?'

He looked first at Brett, who looked as though he were about to keel over at being addressed directly.

'Yes, My lord.' He said, aware that to reply in any other way would invite more trouble than his lowly role as a hall boy could protect him from.

Robert shifted his gaze to Alfred.

'Yes, My Lord.' He replied immediately.

Molesley, who had looked quite bewildered throughout the entire meeting, looked across at Matthew (who nodded back at him in encouragement) before echoing Alfred and Brett.

'Mrs Hughes?' Said Robert, turning towards her.

'I do not believe James should be allowed to stay here. I won't deny that. But I am willing to accept his presence if it does prove to be in the best interest of Mr Barrow.' She said with a skeptical look.

Finally, Robert turned to Mr Carson.

'This entire situation is…disquieting, My Lord. It is my sincere hope that this matter can be settled and put behind us as rapidly as possible.' He said resignedly.

'Thank you.' Jimmy whispered to no one in particular.

'I will telephone Murray directly.' Said Robert. 'That will be all.' He dismissed the assembled staff with a wave of his hand.

As he stepped out of the Drawing Room, Jimmy couldn't help but notice the speed with which Brett was striding heavily down the corridor, his shoulders uncomfortably hunched.

Jimmy recalled with a hint of panic how it had been Alfred (i.e. the one person whose opinion had been largely overlooked) who had reported Mr Barrow the previous year.

He gave chase.

Jimmy grabbed Brett's arm to bring him to a halt.

'Brett, are you really ok with Mr Barrow coming back?'

Brett turned towards him, his eyes flashing in anger. 'This has got nothing to do with me.' He hissed. 'And if you know what's good for you you'll keep it that way.'

Jimmy nodded quickly, releasing his grip on Brett's arm as though burned.

'Of course, I just…'

Jimmy's words trailed off as Brett leaned in to whisper into his ear. 'You're going to hell, you and him both.' He bared his teeth in disdain as he drew back. 'You know that don't you?' He said with a jerky nod of his head before continuing on his way.

Jimmy stared after him.

He jumped out of his stunned state as Alfred's voice suddenly spoke in his ear. 'How was that for you?'

'Did you hear that?' Said Jimmy quietly.

'I did...He won't do anything. He can't afford to rock the boat; he's got an Aunt he sends money to. I doubt he knows how to work a phone, and that's the most words I've heard him speak in almost a year.'

Jimmy nodded slowly, still staring dubiously at Brett's retreating back.

'Trust me. I'll have a word…just to be on the safe side.' Alfred gave Jimmy a reassuring smile as the two of them began to walk down the corridor.

'At least that's sorted, eh?' Said Alfred at length.

Jimmy nodded in wonder. 'I did it…didn't I? He's coming back.' Said Jimmy, in disbelief.

'You did.' Alfred agreed, swinging an arm around Jimmy's shoulders (which were still shaking slightly).

Alfred felt Jimmy's shoulders sag under his hand.

'What's wrong?'

'He's in prison, right now. He's in prison. I haven't thought about it, not really…but now…I have no more distractions, I suppose.' Jimmy shuddered. 'What if something's happened?' He continued in a much smaller voice.

'Don't worry about Mr Barrow. Whatever happens he'll come through it. He's got more lives than a cat.' Said Alfred a little ruefully.

Unbeknownst to them Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes, walking just out of earshot behind them, were exchanging surprised glances on viewing the spectacle of Alfred and Jimmy walking easily side by side.

In their shared gaze they both silently communicated the notion that Alfred's actions went some way to repairing Mrs Hughes's opinion of Alfred himself (following the way he had treated Thomas for the past months), while simultaneously dragging Jimmy up very slightly in Mr Carson's assessment (who, though he would never admit it outright, had something of a soft spot for Alfred and consequently could not  _completely_  damn anyone he was willing to endorse).


	54. Chapter 54

That night Thomas sat hunched on the lower bunk, arms wrapped tightly round the blanket draped over his drawn up knees. It was by far the coldest night that particular winter had brought and Thomas mused at his misfortune to be spending it in a room with no glass in the single window (not to mention a huge iron-grated gaping hole where a wall should be), wearing a single ill-fitting layer of scratchy fabric, sat on a mattress that was giving off tendrils of smoky condensation as the putrid damp within reacted with the freezing night air.

He kept his back pressed against the wall.

Every now and then the dull aching cold that the stones imparted through his coarse shirt would cause him to pull away a few inches, but he kept returning to his original position. He found that the small comfort of the contact fortified him against the icy air far more than the physical reality that he would most likely be a tiny bit warmer if he kept his back away from the wall.

He couldn't help the shivering, but alternating between chewing his lips and tongue between his teeth stopped the worse of their chattering and holding his breath every so often to still his ragged gasps when they became too loud seemed to be allowing his room-mate to get some sleep. The man, who had eventually given his name as Hal, had made his displeasure at being kept awake the previous night crystal clear. And after the incident that morning, Thomas was determined to be more careful about annoying people he was likely to be spending a lot more time with in the foreseeable future.

As he dragged the sheet tighter over his knees, Thomas's right hand brushed up against his bruised hip. The bone was already more prominent than it had been before after only a few days of prison cuisine.

Looking up darkly at the downward sagging mattress of the bunk above, Thomas couldn't suppress a twinge of jealousy. He suspected if he had a similarly overweight frame to Hal that his own experience of the winter temperature would not be quite so unpleasant. As he listened to Hal's changing breathing patterns as he slept, Thomas found himself wishing that he didn't find the available food quite so unpalatable. Running his cold hand up from his hip, across the developing hollow where flesh used to press outwards, towards the tender skin at his ribs (courtesy of the baton wielding guard that morning) he bitterly acknowledged that he was more likely to end up like one of the emaciated walking scarecrows of the prison.

_Or one of the emaciated walking scarecrows of the streets…depending on how long they keep me here…_

He stared angrily at the patch of gathering frost at the windowsill as the moonlight set it glittering, trying to ignore the way that his left hand had finally delivered on its threatening protests at the damp and cold and cemented itself into an immobile claw.

It was this particular development that rapidly doomed Thomas's resolution to avoid attracting further attention to himself.

As he settled down on the wooden bench, sack-cloth in hand, the next morning, Thomas knew it was only a matter of time.

He realised he should have said something when he first got into the work room, but a blend of fear and the forlorn hope that he could somehow complete the tasks despite his disability stopped him from speaking out to the guard. It wasn't the same guard he had offended the day before but he was equally sour-faced and, if the reaction of the other inmates towards his presence was anything to go by, slightly more dangerous.

Thomas tried.

He failed.

The sewing task would have been hard enough with two fully mobile hands (given that the numbing cold had persisted throughout the morning) as the coarse fabric required not only a firm grip to hold the cut pieces together but also a tight grasp on the needle to effectively penetrate the thick weave. As he dropped the fabric for the fourth time, on this occasion because he had clutched for one piece that had started slipping and consequently wound up dropping the whole lot, he noted the long shadow that fell across him as he crouched down to retrieve it with a resigned sigh.

Thomas slowly turned his head upwards, unsurprised to find the stern guard standing over him.

Amid his panic (despite knowing full well that the situation had been brewing for the past half hour), Thomas couldn't help but note that there was something of an uncomfortable 'moment' as the guard's eyes locked onto his own as he stared up at him through his unruly bangs from his position on the floor.

He dragged himself to his feet as quickly as possible.

Thomas found himself, once again, the unwilling center of attention as the guard went through the initial pleasantries of establishing his identity. The level of quiet menace that the man radiated was entirely at odds with his average (in every possible way, save the bright yellow hair sticking out under his hat) appearance, quite a contrast to the volatile, loud and gangly, dark-haired guard of the previous day.

Thomas's unease deepened as he saw the speed with which the other inmates went back to their sewing upon a single terse instruction from the guard.

'Well? Explain.' The guard demanded.

Thomas reluctantly held up his left hand.

'I can't…work this hand anymore.' He said, speaking to the guard's chest to avoid another instance of whatever it was that had passed between them moments earlier. As such, he was unable to see his reaction and stood motionless, waiting, for an uncomfortably long time.

The guard eventually brought his gloved hands up to investigate the mobility of the offered hand. Thomas's cautious relief at the guard having tucked his baton away at his belt in order to do so was short lived when, after grasping his wrist with one hand, the guard used his free hand to pull Thomas's clenched fingers open. They moved with resistance, at least one of his joints let out a crack, and Thomas himself screamed at the burst of pain.

'What's this then?' Said the guard, thinly veiling his amusement with an expression of curiosity as he tested the fingers again.

'It's an old gun-shot wound, the bones never went back quite right…it's reacting badly to the cold, sir.' Thomas replied, white-knuckling his grip on the cloth in his right hand to avoid crying out again.

'I see.' Said the guard in a neutral voice. 'So you decided to waste time and hope no one would notice?'

Thomas had a feeling 'I was too shit scared of you to say anything' would be an inappropriate response.

'I thought I could work through it, sir.' He said.

'Oh. By all means get on with it then...' Said the guard.

Thomas glanced up in surprise and was instantly cowed by the nastiness behind the subtle smirk on the guards face.

'…I have every confidence you will be able to exceed your assigned quota.' He said, his smirk deepening. 'The saddest part of my day is dealing with those who refuse to pull their weight.'

Thomas was unable to suppress a yell as the guard gave his fingers a final push.

'What's this?' Demanded a stern voice from across the room.

The guard instantly dropped Thomas's hand and stood to attention. 'Inmate complaining about his hand, sir.' He said.

The tall, moustached guard by the door rapidly crossed the room and pulled Thomas's hand up from his side. He grimaced at the sight of the curled fingers and pronounced scar tissue (which had been tinged scarlett by the effects of the biting cold on the thin skin).

'Have you been to the medical center?' He said gruffly to Thomas, who shook his head in bewilderment. 'Probably nothing to be done, but the doctor might as well see it. Tomorrow you'll switch to the cleaning task force.' He turned his gaze onto the guard standing next to Thomas. 'Injured prisoners go to the doctor, Charles. I shouldn't have to remind you of that.' He said in a low voice (which nevertheless was heard by several of the closer inmates if the sharp intakes of breath were anything to go by).

'You're walking a dangerous line, you know.' Hal said with a grimace as Thomas was returned to the cell late that afternoon, having completed his (entirely useless) consultation with the doctor.

'How's that then?' Said Thomas wearily, leaning back against the cell wall, reluctant to sit on the bunk despite his exhaustion (unwilling to be in contact with the grotty mattress any longer than strictly required by the enforced post-'lights out' code of conduct).

'I heard what happened today. And I saw what happened yesterday morning.' He said with a pointed glance down at where Thomas was clutching his still painful ribs through his shirt. 'I tell you, you've got some rotten luck.'

Thomas stared sullenly back at him. 'And why would that be?' He said sourly, distinctly NOT in the mood for small talk, let alone guessing games.

'You've gone and upset two of the guards, that's why. And those two are particularly nasty pieces of work.' Said Hal, not in the least bit put off by Thomas's ill humor.

Thomas glared darkly back at him for a moment, before remembering with a twinge that he was supposed to be limiting the amount of people who wanted to kill him and that it would be wise to continue doing so (despite the degree to which he was clearly failing at the task).

Thomas sighed and offered a weak smile as Hal continued to regard him from his perch on the top bunk bed.

'At least the bloke in charge of them seems alright.' Said Thomas with a shrug.

Hal threw himself backwards, engulfed in fits of laughter.

'Apparently you know something I don't?' Thomas prompted, unable to keep his sarcasm in check, when Hal eventually got a handle on his amusement.

'He's not in charge. Higher up on the food chain than them, but not at the top…But they do what he says. It's his job to keep things running smoothly, according to procedure, you see. But he's a vindictive bastard sometimes.' Said Hal, rubbing his eyes with a filthy hand, replacing the tracks of the tears of laughter with smudges of dirt. 'And that's why you're in the shit.' He shot Thomas a very sympathetic look. 'If you give him a reason, and you will…because eventually everyone does, then you'll find the three of them are actually thick as thieves.'

'What happens then?' Said Thomas quietly, hand still rubbing across the bruises on his torso.

Hal smirked bitterly. 'More of what you're hiding under that shirt. A lot more.'

'Well…bollocks!' Said Thomas returning Hal's smirk (there was  _something_  endearing about the man) before creasing up laughing.

There wasn't really much else to do under the circumstances.

Hal even joined in for a while.

'So…cleaning rather than sewing from now on for you then?' He eventually said when the laughter petered out.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. 'Clearly you already know the bloody answer!' He said with an amused grin. 'You're a world class gossip, you are. I'd even forgotten about that!'

'Hmmmm…' Hal hummed with a grimace.

'Let me guess...there's something wrong with being in the cleaning group.' Said Thomas.

'Well, put it this way, lad…You seem to have a talent for offending the guards…'

'I won't argue with that.' Said Thomas ruefully.

'…You've already had your ribs bashed in, and today you had blondie all but breaking your fingers in a room full of going on fifty people…'

'Yes..' Thomas agreed.

'…Cleaners work in small groups, sometimes almost alone, and in whatever rooms the guards see fit to assign them. If I wanted to beat the hell out of someone, I know which circumstances I'd prefer.'

'Christ.' Said Thomas, turning around to rest his head against the wall to cool his suddenly baking forehead.

'You might be alright. I heard he moved you for medical reasons. Just…try not to annoy anybody else.'

'I  _do_  try.' Said Thomas to the wall before turning back around, resigned to the fact he was going to have to re-connect with his mattress in the near future.

'Thank you, by the way.' He said to Hal as he climbed in underneath him.

'What for?'

'For trying to help me…and for not being a raging lunatic.'

Hal gave a snort of laughter. Thomas watched the mattress creaking on the slats above as he turned over.

'Well if you want to repay me, keep doing whatever it is you did last night to quiet down those shivers...I like my sleep.'

Thomas felt his brief flash of good humor vanish as rapidly as it had appeared.


	55. Chapter 55

As he swept the vast expanse of the canteen alongside five other prisoners Thomas found himself engrossed in the, strangely therapeutic, repetitive motion of pushing along the rapidly growing pile of debris inch by inch across the floor.

His arms ached from having to compensate for the loss of dexterity in his hands, and a strain stretched all the way up the right hand side of his body from the unfamiliar contortion, but the morning passed pleasantly enough. Despite the increasing physical stress on his muscles, Thomas found his mind slowly relaxing, uncoiling. The perpetual silence was somehow less poignant with his nearest co-worker stationed several meters away (as opposed to being crammed up against his side on the sewing room work benches) and Thomas allowed his thoughts to wander.

Not far enough to reach Downton, he made damn sure of that, but far enough to provide some colorful imaginary antidotes to the monotonous dull grey of the prison interior.

Thomas re-entered the canteen later that day for lunch with slight trepidation. Being assigned to a different task force meant that he was now part of the later lunch-sitting and consequently had lost the small group of (seemingly mute, and consequently unoffensive) men that he had begun to habitually sit with. He was surprised to recognise Hal, who was stationed at the second serving window. Hal gave him the tiniest of smiles as he passed by, in addition to heaping his plate with a strange bland concoction of what was once potatoes and some kind of green vegetable.

The food smelled disgusting, but Thomas found he didn't have much of an appetite anyway. Shortly after sitting down to eat he become an unwilling voyeur to a young man having his face crushed beyond recognition when the man three seats over from him had launched himself across the table to repeatedly slam his tray down on the other man's face.

Thomas noted a suspiciously large amount of bone crunching hits were landed before the attending guards, including Thomas's personal 'friend' from the wash room, were able to make their way over to break the two men apart. Thomas quickly turned to look back down at his plate when his eyes accidently met the guard's as he walked by carrying the young man, gargling and spluttering on his own blood, out of the room.

A different lunch time meant a different exercise time, and Thomas was happy to spot Hal in the slowly pacing circle of men in the yard. Feeling the need for a grounding influence after what he had witnessed in the canteen, Thomas amended the pace of his own steps to wind up walking next to him.

'Hello.' He whispered, barely moving his lips and keeping his head forwards.

'How's life as a cleaner treating you?' Hal whispered back.

'Good. I prefer it so far.'

'Long may it continue.' Said Hal softly. 'You'll have to excuse me, I have things to be seeing to.'

Thomas watched in confusion as Hal gradually increased his walking pace and wove slowly sideways through the crowd of men to fall in step with a wiry man in the outer part of the circle.

'Eyes front!' Thomas heard a guard call from the side of the yard. He quickly snapped his head back to face forwards, although he did his best to keep track of Hal in his peripheral vision. He noted at least four occasions where he deliberately maneuvered himself to walk with different inmates, and another (more perplexing) moment where he briefly performed the same trick to walk beside the tall guard with the moustache that had sent Thomas to the doctor the day before.

Thomas spent the final ten minutes of the exercise time (which, given his new labor-intensive task force, was more like additional recovery time) pondering whether it would be advisable for him to question Hal about it later.

The afternoon was a little more stop-start that the morning had been, with the cleaners working their way through the narrow corridors and galleries of the first floor.

Thomas was working with two other men down the far end of the main cell block gallery when the sound of heavy footsteps became more noticeable echoing along behind them. Thomas recognised them as belonging to the wash room guard and preemptively flinched.

When he reached them the guard held all three men in an uncomfortable stare for a good few moments before reaching out to take the broom from Thomas's hand. Thomas watched as he set it down against the railings.

'Visitor for you.' Hissed the guard as he grasped Thomas's upper arm to lead him back along the gallery.

As they made their way awkwardly down the stairs, the guard unwilling to release his grip on Thomas's arm even for a moment, he spoke again. 'Do you think I've got nothing better to do than to run around looking for you?'

Thomas was completely nonplussed. 'I wasn't told to expect a visitor…sir.' He added the final word just in time, but the guard's facial expression made it clear that he had made a mistake in attempting to reply at all.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting upon entering the visiting room, although deep down he was aware that there was only one type of 'outside' person he was ever likely to see.

Nevertheless, a dark cloud settled across his mood he recognised the Granthams' lawyer of choice, Mr Murray.

'Mr Barrow.' Murray smiled stiffly at him and indicated the chair opposite himself at the small table.

_Sure…because we are just two blokes about to have a pleasant chat…you patronising git._

Thomas dropped heavily into the chair, glaring daggers at Murray, not bothering to sweep the black slivers of hair out from in front of his eyes. He was glad of the self-satisfied malice that rose in his chest as he beheld Murray's discomfort, it helped distract him from the twinge of shame at being seen by anybody connected to Downton (no matter how remotely) in such a dirty, sweaty and utterly powerless state.

'When's the trial then?' Said Thomas bluntly.

Murray leaned back from the table slightly, realisation dawning on his face as (he thought) he had deduced the reason for Thomas's demeanour.

'Mr Barrow, you misunderstand my purpose in coming here…'

_I didn't know you were coming, how the fuck would I have any way of knowing your 'purpose'…?_

'…I have in fact come to discuss the progress of the criminal investigation into the assault charge leveled against you…'

_Of which the only part I need to know about is 'When is the goddamn trial?'…Spare me and get to the point._

'…and primarily to inform you that the trial will not be going ahead…'

_What…?_

'Why?' Thomas demanded, a little louder than he had intended to, startling the other occupants (including the wash room guard who had remained to watch over their meeting at a very slight distance).

Murray glanced around in discomfort before leaning in. 'It would appear that there is insufficient evidence against you in order for the trial to proceed.'

'Why?' Thomas repeated, panic rising in his gut.

Murray frowned. 'One would hope, Mr Barrow, because you are innocent.'

Thomas couldn't help but notice the wash room guard's snort.

'No…I mean…of course I am.' Said Thomas with absolutely no conviction whatsoever. 'What I mean is what's changed? This can't have happened without His Lordship's approval and he seemed…very convinced of my guilt when I left Downton.' Thomas concluded with a sniff, resting his sticky forehead on the palm of his hand as his mind worked a mile a minute to try to puzzle out the situation.

If he hadn't been quite so distracted, Thomas may have noticed the guard's eyebrows rise violently at the mention of Downton.

As it was, the matter at hand was fully engaging his concentration.

'You are correct, Mr Barrow, in surmising that I am here at Lord Grantham's behest.' Said Murray slowly.

'Why has he changed his mind?' Thomas said.

'I believe I have already answered that question.' Said Murray with another frown.

'You really haven't!' Said Thomas, staring at him with haunted eyes.

'I can only tell you what I have been told and what has turned up, or rather,  _not_  turned up, upon investigation of the case against you. The truth of the matter is that Lord Grantham is convinced that you are innocent of the charge because of the lack of evidence, and following a perusal of the available information, the Investigating Officer and I are inclined to agree.'

Thomas found himself at a loss for words. He moved his hand down from his forehead to cover his eyes for a moment as he screwed his face up in frustration.

Growing more uncomfortable and confused by the minute, Murray endeavored to deliver the rest of the pertinent information as quickly as possible, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could escape Thomas's disquieting presence.

'As I said, the trial will not proceed. You are, ultimately, to be released. I'm sure you appreciate that the accompanying paperwork will take some time, but as Lord Grantham has requested I give the matter particular attention I will endeavor to finalise the necessary documentation within a week.' Murray gave a nervous twitch of his moustache before adding. 'Do you have any questions…any  _other_  questions?'

Thomas took a few very deep breaths before replying, getting as close to the question he feared but desperately wanted to ask ( _Does this have anything to do with a certain footman?)_ as he dared:

'Do you know if Lord Grantham has made any changes to the staffing since I've been gone?'

Murray frowned again. 'That's a rather odd question…I'm afraid I really wouldn't know. If you are asking if your job is still open for you, then I'm afraid I can't help you there either.'

_I know full well my job is no longer 'open' to me, and I suspect I've been to Downton a lot less recently than you, you useless bastard._

Thomas allowed himself another long and languishing inhale and exhale.

'Where am I supposed to go when I leave here?'

'I'm afraid that's not in my remit…'

_Of course it isn't…_

'…although Lord Grantham did tell me to inform you that a member of staff will be sent with the car to pick you up from the gates on the morning of your eventual release.'

_Well I suppose they would want me to clear my things out of Downton as quickly as possible…_

Murray sat in silence for a moment. When Thomas failed to supply any further questions he moved on to the close with a great sense of relief.

'Well, I would say that concludes our business.' He stood up quickly, but paused for a moment before leaving the table side. 'If I may say so, Mr Barrow, you don't seem as pleased by news of your reprieve as I would have expected.'

Thomas stared back at him with utterly lifeless eyes, making no attempt to reply.

Thomas barely registered the increased pressure with which the guard gripped his arm as he returned him to the first floor, or the unnecessarily violent shove as they reached their destination, or the strange speed with which the guard scurried off immediately afterwards.

He entered his cell that evening without sparing a word or glance for Hal. The notion of questioning, or in fact speaking, to his room-mate that evening had completely flown the realm of possibility.

Suppressing each and every thought his treacherous mind could dredge up, Thomas dropped face down onto his bunk, inhaling the smell of damp like an elixir as he worked with all his might to suppress the urge to bawl.


	56. Chapter 56

Noticing Thomas had failed to make a move to rise as the guard sounded the morning call, Hal gave him a sharp prod. 'Feet on the floor, lad, if you know what's good for you.' He said, as he worked with sharp practiced movements to re-make his own bed.

Thomas stirred with a reverberating groan, but the accumulating sleepless nights coupled with the after effects of his first day of truly manual labor in his life kept him glued to the mattress.

At the sound of approaching footsteps on the gallery outside, Hal yanked Thomas's arm to spill him out of bed and onto the floor.

Thomas groaned in protest, but resignedly got up onto his knees to attend to making his bed just in time as the guard walked past.

'What happened last night?' Said Hal, leaning lazily against the bedpost.

'Sorry if I kept you awake again.' Said Thomas dully, still fighting off the after effects of sleep.

'You did.' Said Hal with a wry nod. 'So?…What happened?'

'I think I'm being released.' Thomas replied, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the bed, bowing his head as though in prayer.

'From prison?'

Thomas nodded dejectedly.

'Blimey, that doesn't happen often…' Said Hal.

'Any way I can  _stop_  it from happening?' Mumbled Thomas sarcastically into his hands.

Hal's expression became unreadable as he opened his mouth to respond.

Whatever he was planning to say was rapidly silenced by the cell door opening and the loud shout for the prisoners to assemble to begin the morning.

The work was somewhat more unpleasant than the previous day, but once Thomas had gotten over his initial disgust he found scrubbing the floors of the washrooms equally as therapeutic as the sweeping the corridors had been. To avoid the inevitable hyperventilation each time he thought about Murray's news, Thomas resolved to continue to mentally suppress the matter…while taking his confused frustration out on the ingrained muck on the floor beneath his fingertips.

Aside from noticing that he was attracting strange looks from both the tall moustached guard and an unfamiliar heavy-set prisoner with a closely shaved head in the exercise yard that afternoon, the day was a nondescript bore.

As Thomas entered his cell that evening, peeling off from his place in the depressing procession of grey clothed sloggers, he immediately sank down onto his bunk without a word.

'Oh no you don't.' Hal's feet swung over the side of the bunk above before the rest of him slid into view, coming to land by Thomas's side. For the second time that day, he dragged Thomas out of bed.

'Bloody get off me!' Thomas shouted as Hal marched him over to stand beneath the small widow. After propping him up against the wall and ordering him to stay put, Hal quickly returned to the other side of the cell to peer through the bars. He paused for a moment before giving a satisfied nod.

As he walked back towards Thomas, he paused briefly to pull a small box out from the side of his mattress cover, retrieving a few items that he concealed in his palm before taking up a position standing opposite Thomas under the window.

'Here…' Said Hal, holding something out to him. 'I don't care whether or not you've had one before, you need one now.'

Thomas blinked in surprise when he recognised the unmistakable white cylinder of a cigarette.

'Thanks.' He said as he took it.

Hal gave a curt nod, smiling with his eyes, as he struck a match on the side of the windowsill to light both Thomas's cigarette and his own.

The first few drags made Thomas cough quite violently, prompting Hal to remark on how unhealthy the air was in prison and how he always kept a few smokes on hand to keep it at bay, but he rapidly began to savor the familiar taste. Thomas was surprised to note a minor head-rush developing, something he hadn't experienced since the brief period where cigarettes became hard to come by in the trenches.

He leaned his head contentedly against the stone wall, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

Hal watched him with amusement.

'You throw all of yourself at whatever you do, don't you?' Said Hal.

Thomas opened his eyes and breathed out a very long stream of smoke towards the window. 'I suppose so. That's definitely what landed me in here.'

'Ah…but apparently you never done whatever it is they said you did…' Said Hal, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Thomas gave a bitter grunt before taking another breath of smoke.

_As inquisitions go, this isn't too bad…_

'I did  _do_  something.' He said quietly.

'No doubt.' Said Hal. 'But that's no reason to reject the chance to get out.'

'The man I worked for  _knows_  I did something.' Thomas clarified. 'He's the one who got me put in here. And I don't understand why he's changed his mind. That worries me. That, and the fact I've got nowhere to go but the streets.'

'That's a bit obvious, isn't it? He wants you back working for him.' Said Hal.

'Not after what I've done.' Thomas replied flatly.

'Am I to take it that there's more to the story about your fight with that woman's husband than meets the eye?'

Thomas sighed and gave a slight nod. 'I won't be allowed back to my old job.'

'Then why would your boss exert himself to get you released?' Said Hal, watching Thomas's face carefully.

'I don't know…some cocked up sense of mercy?' Thomas shrugged bitterly. 'I've got nowhere to go from here. No friends and not even any family I can reach without using the money I'll need to keep a roof over my head, that's if His Lordship in his  _infinite_  mercy hasn't already arranged for my money to be used to pay for the cost of this ridiculous charade.'

'His Lordship…?' Hal snorted. 'You worked for a 'His Lordship'? Which one?'

'Grantham, of Downton Abbey.'

'Oh…I wouldn't spread that around if I were you.' Hal cleared his throat nervously, discarding his spent cigarette with an expert throw out of the window. '…No wonder you looked like you were used to a more delicate standard of living.'

Thomas couldn't help but resent Hal's use of the past tense, although as he glanced down at the bruised, scraped and dirty hand that he held his cigarette butt in, he couldn't really disagree.

'Are you done?' Hal said, indicating the cigarette in Thomas's hand.

'One sec.' Thomas drew out the final possible taste and handed it over to Hal, suspecting that his painful muscles would fail him if he tried to aim to throw it out the window himself.

'So you weren't joking this morning about wanting to stay in here?' Said Hal, as he and Thomas both moved across the room to sit down on the lower bunk. 'You reckon you won't get work and that you'll starve?'

Thomas let out something of a giggle at that. 'I might starve in here anyway if your lot don't stop making such crap food.'

'That's something you should add to the list of reasons why you shouldn't do anything stupid to get yourself kept in here.' Said Hal.

Thomas was surprised to see how serious Hal's expression had suddenly become.

'Your chances are better outside, lad.' Said Hal, the tone of his voice sinking in line with his facial expression. 'Clearly not good…but, trust me, from what I've seen of you, they're better.'

'I've got nowhere to go.' Thomas repeated sadly.

'Listen, anyone who stays here for a long time has to find a way to avoid trouble…to make themselves useful. And I honestly don't think you would be able to do that.'

'How'd you mean?'

'Well…You can get in with the guards by being strong…and being willing to hurt whoever you're told to. But I don't think that's you, is it?'

Thomas's residual masculine pride willed him to protest, but in the end he truthfully shook his head.

'If you have a particular skill, sometimes that keeps you in favor as well. Although last time I checked there's not much skilled labor that can be done one-handed, and your no lawyer or bookie or anything like that, are you?'

Again, Thomas shook his head.

'Inmates who are well positioned themselves sometimes take people under their wing, so to speak, in exchange for them acting like their personal servants…'

'Pretty much my previous job.' Thomas said bitterly.

'I sincerely doubt it.' Said Hal, taking a deep breath before continuing. 'These men perform…the kind of things you'd expect more from a wife than a servant, if you get my drift.'

'But that's…illegal.' Thomas said incredulously.

Hal laughed out loud at that. 'So is beating someone bloody, but you saw what happened in the canteen yesterday. And anyway, with regards to the  _other_ thing, there's something of an unwritten rule that it's permissible provided that there's only one person enjoying it, if you get my…'

'I got it.' Thomas cut in quickly.

'You're a bit old for that anyway.' Said Hal, clearly expecting Thomas (whose pride took another sharp stab) to be relieved by this particular bit of information. 'Besides, I can tell you're not really the submissive type…otherwise you wouldn't keep pissing off the guards.'

Thomas couldn't resist a small mirthful laugh at the truth behind that.

'You've been here for a long time haven't you?' He said softly to Hal.

Hal shrugged in response.

'Where do you fit in to the system?' Thomas asked.

'Don't get me wrong, I do trust you, lad. But I'm not sure it's the best idea to tell you after the look I saw on your face this morning.'

'What look?'

Hal sighed. 'The one that begged for someone to put you out of your misery.'

Thomas gritted his teeth. 'I know what you are saying…and I wouldn't. Not ever. And I bloody wish people would stop sayin' it.'

'You sound very sure of that.' Said Hal, regarding him quizzically.

'No matter how bad things are there's always the chance that there's someone out there who…' Thomas stopped, surprised that he had let any of the words past his lips at all.

'I take it there's a story there…?'

Thomas nodded. 'There is, but you're not getting it.' He said simply.

Hal patted his knee slightly to indicate he understood.

'Promise I can trust you?' Said Hal, breaking the uncomfortable silence. 'Both to not drop me in it, and to not do anything stupid to yourself…?'

'You can.' Said Thomas quietly.

'My role is to keep the prison population happy by providing…various substances.' Said Hal in a low whisper.

'You deal drugs?'

Hal nodded. 'There's a good few of us who are in charge of acting as the go-betweens for the guards and their…customers.'

'I suppose I could do that.' Said Thomas without enthusiasm.

'I don't think so.' Said Hal with a wry smile. 'It's the same as beating someone up for no reason. You give someone drugs; you know you're hurting them.'

'How can you do it then?'

'Because I'm lazy and ugly, and it's the easiest life prison can afford me.' Said Hal with a bleak smile.

Their eyes met and both men were briefly overcome by a fit of inappropriate laughter.

'You're alright. You know that, lad?' Said Hal giving Thomas a gentle clap on the back. 'And you'll do better in a place where you don't have to worry about having your teeth knocked down your throat.'

'A couple of people tried that over the years at my old place actually.' Thomas laughed.

'Really? Why, what did you do to deserve that?' Said Hal with an amused smile.

'I was a bit of a…nasty bastard, I suppose.' Thomas replied.

Hal looked sideways at him with an unflinching gaze.

'I don't see it.' He said.

Thomas shifted uncomfortably.

Hal eventually spoke again. 'Why don't you try taking some of that optimism that's stopping you from looping a rope around your neck and applying it to your chances once you get out of here?'

'I suppose.' Thomas grudgingly conceded that Hal had a point.

'What about that woman you were caught with, maybe she's missing you despite her husband, eh?'

Thomas closed his eyes for a moment before replying. 'I thought…The whole reason I was in here was to give her a chance with her husband.' He said.

_'Husband' of course being a euphemism for job, freedom, happiness, et cetera…_

_[Everything you'd already lost.]_

'Well what if she would rather be with you?' Said Hal brightly.

'I can't believe she would be that stupid.' Said Thomas. 'But if she made that choice…Then I'll probably bump into her on the streets one day.' He concluded sourly, although his heart wasn't behind the words.

Hal raised his eyebrows, but judged it was probably wise to offer no further comment.

'Goodnight then. Try to keep the noise down tonight, eh?' He said eventually, before jumping up off of Thomas's bunk to climb up onto his own.


	57. Chapter 57

The man with the shaved head that Thomas had noticed staring at him the previous day was added to his cleaning group the next morning.

The staring didn't stop as the morning progressed.

It wasn't enough to be noticeable by the half a dozen other men working on scrubbing down the laundry rooms, but obvious enough that Thomas was only partially surprised when the man quickly broke away from the group to push him into a small annex room shortly before lunch.

_Oh God…_

Thomas stumbled forwards, but somehow managed to remain standing. There were no obstacles to fall over in the completely bare room which was roughly the size of a large pantry. A single tiny window was left to let in inadequate light as the man closed the door behind him, but enough crept in to show several decades of lichen growth speckling the walls.

Turning to face the man Thomas took a few steps back to keep his distance, eyeing the single door over his shoulder.

_Don't panic, don't panic….Do NOT panic._

'Couple of questions.' Said the man in a grating voice. 'And I want the truth.'

_Man of few words, I see._

'Yes.' Said Thomas, trying to appear both unafraid and humble at the same time, but in reality just coming off as panicky.

'You're from Downton.'

Thomas was almost certain that it wasn't a question, but with the man's dull manner of speaking he couldn't be completely sure. He recalled the wash room guard who had been present during his meeting with Murray with a grimace.

_But Hal did say not to…_

'Yes.' Thomas replied, stepping further back as the man slowly closed the distance between them.

'Name 'Bates' familiar to you?'

_What the fuck has that got to do with anything?_

'Yes.'

'You familiar to him?'

All too soon for his liking Thomas's back found the wall. He cast his eyes over to the door again, which was now as physically far away from him as possible given the shape of the room. On the plus side the man came to a stop over an arm's length away, sparing Thomas his rank smell if not his glowering eyes.

'What do you mean?' Said Thomas.

The man looked very irritated.

_Bloody hell. You only gave me four words to work with…Sorry, I don't speak 'uneducated thug'!_

'You friends?' Said the man with a small, but unmistakably menacing, sneer.

_Two words this time…Christ…_

'No.' Said Thomas quickly.

The man indicated with his hands that he wanted more of a response and advanced a few more steps.

'I took his job once, then he took it back off me. And he helped me get a new job. That's about it.'

'He helped you?'

'Yes.' Said Thomas, feeling bits of the decaying wall crumble under his fingers as he pressed himself closer, as though it were possibly to disappear into the stone-work entirely.

The man tilted his chin upwards slightly, staring down at Thomas as though expecting to read evidence of dishonesty in his face. Whatever confirmation of the offered information he was looking for, he seemed to eventually find it.

For a brief moment Thomas could have sworn the man was riling up to attack him but the moment soon passed, leaving Thomas to wonder if his rattled mind had been deceiving him.

With a small jerk of his head the man indicated that Thomas should follow him and led him back towards the door. As they emerged back into the laundry room, it became clear that the rest of the group had moved on. Retrieving his brush from where it had fallen beside the door, Thomas continued to follow the man; He seemed to know where he was going.

They caught up with the rest of the group two rooms away. Thomas's heart sank when he saw that a guard had appeared and was pacing in front of the others, who had already soaped up a large swath of the tiled floor. His unease deepened when he recognised the man as the moustached guard.

The shaved head man was totally unphased as the guard looked questioningly at him, responding to whatever the unspoken query was with a small nod. Neither of them bothered to shield the communication from Thomas, who was gifted with a coldly amused glance before the moustached guard slipped back into 'professional mode'.

'Your failure to keep up with your group is unacceptable.' He boomed across the room, over the backs of the crouched men vigorously cleaning the floor between them. 'You will be placed on detail in the cellars tomorrow. Now get back to work.'

'Yes, sir.' Drawled the shaved head man.

Thomas was somewhat slower to respond, suspecting that after the looming doom of the past few days something unpleasant and beyond his control had now been officially set in motion.

Thomas passed the rest of the day in an uncomfortable kind of limbo, frightened but not sure exactly why. His awareness of the movements, glances and even breathing of all the men around him became heightened to an extraordinary level which rendered him somewhat jumpy at the slightest provocation. Unfortunately, his intense focus on monitoring the men working beside him resulted in a sharp kick to the flank when he failed to notice (and consequently, failed to get out of the way of) the sewing room guard making his way past him to get to the next room later that day. The moustached guard, who had remained supervising the cleaning group, offered no comment on the matter.

Thomas had dearly wanted to speak to Hal during the brief post-lunch exercise period, but it rapidly became obvious that Hal was once again using the time to conduct his 'business' and Thomas knew better than to impede his progress.

He was glad when the evening finally rolled around, although the gathering gloom of the prison at dusk significantly amplified his anxiety as to what the morning would bring.

In the cell Hal was lying on his bunk, leisurely throwing a small cloth ball up at the ceiling and catching it with the other hand as it came down.

Thomas hovered uncomfortably over by the bars, hoping for some kind of greeting or question about the day to provide a jumping off point for conversation. Almost as if he was aware of this, Hal stayed stubbornly silent watching his toy rise and fall above him.

'I had a…strange encounter today.' Said Thomas, hands behind his back to grip the bars for support. He winced slightly at the stretch of pain across his chest as the tightly coiled muscles protested, having been engaged in hunching forwards for almost the entirety of the day.

'Do tell.' Said Hal without looking at him.

'When I was in the laundry room this morning this man pulled me away from the others and started asking questions about a bloke I used to work with.'

'Was the man who pulled you away a prisoner or a guard?' Hal interjected.

'Prisoner.' Responded Thomas. 'Shaved head, built like a shed… The proper stereotypical type. Just how a kid would imagine Magwitch in a nightmare!' Thomas gave a nervous laugh.

'Who's Magwitch?' Said Hal, against the steady rhythm of the cloth ball repeatedly being caught in his outstretched hand.

Thomas raised an eyebrow. 'He's a character from Dickens.'

'Who's Dickens?'

Thomas snorted in derision. 'You are joking, aren't you?'

Hal caught the ball this time without immediately throwing it back up again. He leaned up on his elbow to peer down at Thomas. 'I wasn't, actually.'

Thomas's lips parted ever so slightly.

With a brief toss of his head, Hal continued sternly. 'Anyway…I'd already heard what happened today.'

'Course you have.' Thomas muttered. 'Why do you ask questions when you already know all the sodding answers?' He said bitterly.

Something snapped behind Hal's placid facial expression and his eyes filled with anger as he responded. 'Because sometimes hearing what people  _choose_  to tell you is more informative than the facts themselves. Like now, for instance…I usually have to drag conversation and information out of you, but today you chose to tell me straight off the bat that this man cornered you, and you're trying to describe him to me. Now why would you do that, eh? Got something you're trying to ask…?'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.' Said Thomas quietly, avoiding Hal's eyes.

'Let's keep to the point, shall we? I think this is the part where you beg for my help...' Prompted Hal.

'I'm not trying to…' Thomas began to protest.

'You  _should_  be.' Hal said bluntly. When Thomas remained sullenly silent, Hal gave an annoyed humph before continuing. 'The reason I told you not to mention Downton….And yes, I know that wasn't intentional on your part…Luther ran straight to the senior officer with that particular tidbit after your meeting with the lawyer.' Hal cleared his throat again. 'Anyway, the reason I told you not to mention it is because I've worked alongside your 'Magwitch', fencing drugs for the senior officer, for years. As such I've had the dubious pleasure of repeatedly hearing the long list of ways that your old co-worker managed to stiff them both during his time here.'

Thomas blinked in surprise. 'Why? What did he do?'

'Oh I'm sure the other two will tell you tomorrow…in the cellar...many floors and walls away from the rest of us.' Said Hal with a wry curl of the lip.

'I don't understand.' Said Thomas quietly.

'It's simple isn't it? Luther and Charles already hate you and were actively look for ways to hurt you but they couldn't do anything serious because of the senior officer. He doesn't like the guards risking trouble you see…that is, unless he himself decides someone's  _really_  worth hurting. The idea, I believe, is to send you back to Downton as a broken man…something of a message for Mr Bates, and if I understand correctly, Lord Grantham as well, as a token of their displeasure at how things went before. My boss has had that anger festering for far too long to be easily appeased, I can tell you.'

'But I'm not  _going_  to Downton, am I? And I'm going to have a hard enough time finding work elsewhere with the damage I've already got.'

'Wish I could tell you that it would help you to tell them that…But I'm sure you know how it is when your blood's up and you've made your mind to do something. You're connected to that Bates bloke now, the senior officer will enjoy endorsing your arse-kicking just on that principal alone…Maybe it'll help you in the long run.' Said Hal with an unconvincing laugh. 'From what I dimly recall of the world, crippled beggars get more sympathy.'

'Oh Jesus.' Thomas grimaced as he banged his head against the bars a few times in frustration. 'It's funny…every time I think I can't possibly drop any lower, the floor falls away and I find myself in an even worse place.'

Hal's expression softened. 'Trust me lad, after this there's nowhere else to go but up.'

'And how am I supposed to get through this in the first place?' Said Thomas softly.

'Perhaps begin by following my earlier hint?'

Thomas shrugged. 'I can't reason with them, I can't avoid them and I don't get out of here for at least three days…maybe longer. I don't see what you could do.'

Hal gave a bitter snort of laughter. 'Asking for help when you need it, and trusting someone else to give it, is one of life's most important lessons, lad…Given where you are now, I had a feeling you hadn't learned it yet. The question's less about how you get through the next few days, and more about how the hell you've managed to stay alive for so many years already, if you ask me.'

'Oh fuck you!' Thomas responded, rolling his head back against the bars of the cell.

'Don't swear at me.' Hal bit back.

Thomas gave a peal of exaggerated, bitter laughter. 'I'm being lectured to by someone who doesn't know who Charles Dickens is; I'll swear if I fucking want to.' He said in the most scathing voice he could muster.

'Oh…I see it now.' Said Hal, amused, clearly not in the least bit cowed by Thomas's demeanor.

'See. Bloody. What?' Thomas intoned flatly.

'The 'nasty bastard'.' Hal replied with an easy smile as he pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bunk to get a better view of Thomas, who remained standing over by the cell bars.

Thomas glared up at him.

'Do you always get defensive? You know, when you feel you've lost control of a situation?'

_['Why do you ask questions when you already know all the sodding answers?'….]_

Thomas was forced to remain silent as his mind failed to provide him with any words of response, nostrils flaring slightly as he continued to glare at Hal's maddening expression.

Hal's bright smile took on a somewhat rueful undertone at Thomas's silence. He nodded slightly to himself before speaking again.

'Tell me…' Hal said, holding Thomas's sullen gaze. 'Do you avoid asking for help because you can't bring yourself to admit you need it or because you think you won't get it?'

'Fuck you.'

'Or is it that you think you can't trust anyone with the knowledge of exactly what it takes to break you?'

Thomas continued to glare, too exhausted to disagree and too exhausted to demand what he so desperately needed; for Hal to shut up. He impotently wished it were possible to silence someone with the power of the mind.

Hal nodded to himself again. 'I think we'll call it a blend of those, shall we?...With the added problem that you don't truly believe anyone  _can_  help you.'

'Seriously…Fuck you.' Thomas said softly, feeling the last of his strength draining away.

'Must get lonely defending your tiny little patch of world; where you  _always_  know best and anyone else's contribution is an inevitable let down.'

Hal's discourse having finally reached its end, the cell fell into a tense and stale silence.

Eventually, Hal fell back to lie flat on his bed with a resigned sigh.

Thomas tightened his grip on the cell bars at his back.

' _Is_  there anything you can do?' Thomas whispered in a tiny voice.

'Hmmm?' Murmured Hal without stirring.

Tears of exhaustion began to run down Thomas's cheeks.

'Can you help me?' He said, a little louder.

Hal turned onto his side to look back down at Thomas, regarding his tearful face in silence without showing any emotion of his own.

'If there is anything…please help me.' Thomas said, staring up at him.

Hal's expression became sorrowful, but a small twitch in the side of his pudgy face indicated that something more vigorous was going on behind his mask.

Thomas frowned, suddenly angry again. 'You said you  _wanted_  me to ask for help. So, why are you looking so unhappy?' He demanded.

'In anticipation of the solution.' Said Hal with a grimace.

He broke eye contact with Thomas and settled back down onto his bunk without saying another word.

Thomas stood by the bars for some time as the prison grew dark, his breaths becoming more pronounced in the cold air, until he heard the first guard making his night rounds. He quickly scurried into his bunk and drew the sheet over himself, staring up at the sagging mattress above.

The air wasn't quite as cold as it had been the previous couple of nights, but sleep continued to elude him at the prospect of the bruising, blood, breakage and pain the next day was likely to bring.

He could hear in Hal's unusually quiet breathing that he hadn't fallen asleep either, although he was clearly trying to give the impression that he had.

Thomas couldn't deny his own discomfort at having offended him.

He debated the idea of apologising for his earlier ill-humor, although even a relatively brief 'I'm sorry, I'm an idiot' was unappealing given that it would represent something of an acceptance of Hal's earlier assessment of his character.

_Which was complete bollocks…_

Thomas began wracking his brain for some evidence to the contrary.

After a long and fairly exhaustive search through his memories, the best Thomas could come up with were the few times that he had pleaded with Carson to let him stay on at Downton when he found himself without money or work…and those particular moments were somewhat negated when Thomas recalled his statement the time he had walked in on Carson going through dinner spoons with Alfred.

_['HE asked for help…YOU never did.']_

_So that's how you wind up in a place like this, is it…?_

Thomas gloomily ran the fingers of his good hand through his greasy hair and stared into the darkness as he sunk into something akin to sleep due to sheer exhaustion.

It was hard to say what Thomas noticed first when he was violently shaken awake; the fact that it was still the dead of night or the fact that there was someone else by his bunk.

'Shhhh.' Hal's voice hissed in his ear.

'What…?' Thomas began.

He cried out as he was shoved against the wall at the side of the bed. Hal clambered in behind him, the mattress creaking and dipping dangerously low as he did so.

'What are you…?' Thomas tried to sit up. Hal forced him back down onto the bed, holding him in place by the back of his neck as he reached with the other hand to recover the bed sheet that Thomas had kicked off in his distress.

'Please…!' Thomas tried again.

Hal threaded his fingers in Thomas's hair and gave a violent yank, drawing an anguished howl from his lips, before dropping the hand down to cover Thomas's mouth. Thomas screamed against his clammy palm.

Hal occupied his free hand with re-arranging the bedsheet, pressing his vast torso against Thomas's back to enable him to adequately cover them both.

Amid his rising panic, Thomas became aware of the faint sound of footsteps on the gallery outside.

He rapidly forgot about them again when he felt Hal's hand snake under the bedsheet to rest at his waist. He tried to scream again, and bucked his hips to dislodge the unwelcome hand.

'Stop that!' Hal hissed into his ear, quickly pulling the sheet back up from where Thomas's movements had thrown it.

He used his considerable weight to sandwich Thomas between himself and the wall, rendering him all but immobile.

The vile smell of the skin of Hal's left hand, still clamped across his mouth, rendered Thomas extremely nauseous when the return of Hal's right hand to his waist caused him to take a panicked breath through his nose. Thomas cried in anguish and disgust, Hal's hand muffling the sound to a low whimper.

As the footsteps in the gallery outside drew closer, Hal's hand travelled upwards from Thomas's waist to his rib-cage.

As he found the lowest of the bruises from the wash room guard's baton, Hal gave a sharp prod to the tender flesh, prompting Thomas to howl again and give as much of a writhe as possible given his restricted range of movement.

'Shhhh.' Said Hal before jabbing at the bruise again.

'Ah!' Thomas was surprised to find the grip across his mouth briefly loosened, just long enough to allow his shout of pain to reverberate around the cell walls. Thomas heard some answering catcalls echoing from neighboring cells.

'Quiet boy!' Said Hal in a loud whisper before grunting loudly as he gave the bruise another hard prod, which drew another attempted shout from Thomas.

Thomas slowly began to wonder if he was missing something about what was happening.

_Why does he keep telling me to shut up while he keeps trying to make me shout…?_

_He doesn't seem to be trying to actually….What actually IS he doing…?_

But the immediate situation was far too traumatic for Thomas to hold onto coherent thoughts for any length of time.

In the aftermath of another assault on his painful bruising Thomas sobbed into Hal's hand, tensing up as Hal pushed him bodily back into the wall, bedsprings creaking as he did. Thomas dimly noted that the footsteps had made their way to right outside the cell door.

There was the unmistakable sound of grim laughter before the footsteps resumed.

Thomas continued to cry as Hal's fingernails delivered more vicious jabs to his bruised ribs as the footsteps faded away down the gallery.

It took Thomas a little while to notice when the hand covering his mouth fell away and Hal's other hand drew back from his bruises to drop down to rest motionless at his waist. His body continued to be wracked by unrelenting sobs.

'You can calm down now, lad.' Said Hal gently into his ear. 'That went well.' He said with a brief pat of Thomas's hip.

When it became clear that Hal really had stopped doing whatever it was that he had been doing, Thomas's mind relaxed enough to enable him to begin to puzzle the situation out.

'What the hell was that?' Thomas eventually choked out through ragged breaths.

''That' was something to make the guard run off and tell his fellow officers that a certain dark haired lad is already suffering something worse than they were planning on giving him in the cellars.' Said Hal, with another pat of Thomas's hip. 'I'll have a word tomorrow to be sure, but they are usually happy to leave people to me when I ask.'

_Usually...?_

For the sake of his sanity, Thomas decided to let that one go by.

'Will that work?' He asked, his breathing settling to a quiet panting.

'Well I may not be his  _favorite_  lackey, but the senior officer will be satisfied that it was one of his own who did it.'

'Did what?' Thomas whispered, unable to relax with Hal's mouth still at his ear, his hand at his waist and his belly still pressing into his back.

'Don't play. You know what this is supposed to look like.'

_'SUPPOSED to look like'?_

_Thank God…_

'Yes.' Thomas softly agreed. 'I do.'

Hal exhaled slowly, blowing several strands of Thomas's hair from behind his ear to tickle his cheek.

Thomas couldn't help twitching in discomfort.

He was intensely relieved when Hal released his hold, drew himself up to a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Hal sat silently watching Thomas for a few moments.

Thomas stayed where he was, lying on his side facing the wall, his shoulders trembling.

Hal sighed as he got to his feet.

'I would have asked your permission, but from what I've seen you're a terrible actor…I needed the element of surprise.' He said apologetically, pausing for a moment as he stood up. 'But if you could  _try_  to look in intense pain for the next few days…' Said Hal, lightening his voice to a more jovial tone. '…my pride would very much appreciate it…And so will the guards who wanted to see you leave in pieces.' He said pointedly as he pulled himself back up onto the top bunk.

'Thank you.' Whispered Thomas softly, balking at the sheer ridiculousness of the sentiment given the situation.

'You're welcome, lad.' Said Hal, shifting back into position on his own mattress. 'At least….I bet this means you can't wait to get out of here now?' He said tentatively.

'You're right there.' Said Thomas with a small laugh.

Hal gave a relieved chuckle at Thomas's good-humored response before turning over to attempt a few hours of sleep.


	58. Chapter 58

'Hey…wake up.' Thomas whispered, standing on the tips of his toes to shake Hal's arm.

Hal stirred with a grumble. 'Morning already?' He said gruffly, a hint of a smile beginning to stretch across his lips as he rolled onto his side to face Thomas.

'Yes. It's almost dawn.'

'Mmmm. Time for you to walk out and re-join the world…'

Thomas nodded. 'I just wanted to say goodbye, and thank you again.'

'You're welcome. Good luck wherever you end up.' Said Hal, before turning away to end the conversation.

Thomas was a little taken aback.

He stayed where he was.

_That can't be it…_

'Would you…do you want me to write to you, or anything?' Said Thomas.

Hal turned back to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

'It's just…you never asked for anything for helping me.' Thomas continued.

Hal sighed. 'Everyone who leaves this cell in one piece is my reward.' He said slowly, reciting the words in a way that indicated he had said them many times before.

'I take it there was a time when someone didn't…?' Thomas prompted gingerly.

'Yes.' Said Hal, his voice sounding suddenly distant.

Thomas leaned forwards to rest his fingertips and chin against the side of Hal's mattress, urging him to continue with his eyes.

Hal's face creased up in laughter at the sight. 'You look like a little boy ready for a bedtime story!' He teased.

'You don't have to tell me nothing if you don't want to.' Said Thomas easily. 'It's just that this is my last chance to ask. What I'm wondering is…Well, I don't see how someone could be like you,  _and_  be in here, and not be angry all the time…You know, still be willing to help people, and all that.'

'One word, lad…atonement.' Said Hal ruefully.

'For what you were arrested for?' Thomas said gently.

Hal shook his head. 'That was for stealing, not even anything worth that much.' He said with a snort. It was a while before he continued speaking. 'When I first got here my cell-mate was new as well. I fell in easily with the guards, started plying my trade so to speak. But he just got sad…and sick. But I didn't see it. I was too busy enjoying myself. After a life of being worth less than the dirt on someone's shoe, things in here made me feel  _very_  good about myself. Arrogant. Selfish.' Hal took a sad pause. Thomas leaned a tad closer. 'He stole some opium off me.' Hal eventually continued. 'It was enough to be shared between something like ten people…and he ate it all himself…died from it. And I know he did it on purpose. Made me realise how naïve I'd been, how heartless. I resolved to pay closer attention in future…make up for my mistake.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.' Said Thomas gently. 'But…how come you are still in here? You said you'd been here for years?'

'Because every now and then I find myself temporarily clumsy in conducting my 'business' dealings…My own form of personal punishment.' Hal replied with true, raw emotion behind his voice. 'I came here a thief and within a month I'd proved myself a murderer…it's in here that I feel closest to redressing that sin.'

'But that's not right.' Said Thomas tentatively. 'Just because he used your drugs to kill himself doesn't make it your fault.'

'It's why he  _wanted_  to kill himself that makes it my fault, lad, not how he did it. Anyway…' Hal sniffed and switched into a more jovial tone of voice. '…good luck to you, again.'

Thomas removed his arms from their resting spot on the mattress with a small nod to indicate he understood that the matter was closed.

'Are you sure you don't want me to write?' He quickly whispered as he stepped away from the bunk as the sound of the approaching guard's footsteps reached his ears.

'Probably best if you don't, I prefer to believe the fantasy that all my people have happy endings.' Hal said with a laugh.

Noting Thomas's frown, he continued.

'Don't give me that look! I said you'd do  _better_ on the outside, I didn't guarantee you'd do  _well_ , did I? I'd rather not have confirmation that you've wound up a factory worker or winkle-picker or any of the other 'jobs of the damned'….But by all means write if you become the King of England or something. Give me a laugh.' Hal said with an infectious grin that Thomas returned warmly.

As the guard arrived outside the cell he found Thomas in an unmistakable state of distress leaning pressed against the wall on the opposite side of the room to Hal, who was languishing indifferently in his bunk.

The guard took in the sight with pleasure as he went to unlock the cell door.

'Gave you a nice 'goodbye' did he?' He smirked at Thomas as he motioned for him to step out onto the gallery landing.


	59. Chapter 59

When the moment was finally upon him, Thomas made his way out through the prison gate without a moment's pause. He wasn't sure if it was because he was suddenly afraid they were going to find a reason to call him back inside or because he was afraid he would lose his nerve to actually leave.

As he inhaled the cold, dry air of the winter morning he realised with a grimace just how thick and damp the air inside the prison had actually been. His stomach gave a lurch at the contrast between the gloriously pure breaths he was taking at that moment and the feeling that he had been inhaling through a sheet of putrid moss for the previous two weeks. His throat spasmed into a series of coughs.

He felt in his suit pocket, which was empty as he suspected, and made a mental note to keep a packet of cigarettes in both his livery  _and_  civvy clothes in future (assuming he ever wore a livery again).

_The guards probably would have nicked them off me when I got in there anyway…_

_Good thing I left my watch behind at Downton…_

Thomas flinched at the uncomfortable memory of switching between his Under Butler uniform and civvy suit under the thunderous glare of Alfred the morning he was arrested.

_Don't know why he had to watch me getting changed. There was nowhere to go but out the window and he looked like he wanted to throw me out of it himself._

_Still…good practice for what happened when I arrived here and got my new uniform, I suppose._

Thomas glanced down at the grey suit he was wearing. It was a lighter grey with a more bluish tinge than the prison uniforms, but close enough to the color to make Thomas's nose wrinkle up in disdain.

_If I ever start to make good money again, first thing I'm going to do is buy a new suit._

_And burn this one._

As he moved further down the road his shoes began crunching over the remnants of a powdery snow that had fallen the previous day. The trudging of men around the exercise yard had rendered what fell within the prison a dirty yellowing sludge, but this was white, crisp, and shining. He fought the urge to bend down and touch it, very much aware that the guards by the gate were probably still watching him.

Looking up ahead he spied the unmistakable shape of the dark blue Renault that he had helped countless visitors into, and out of, over the years at Downton.

He stopped dead, still a long way from the car.

Thomas's blood ran colder than the winter air at the prospect of taking even one step closer.

Regarding the back of the car with accusing eyes, Thomas decided that having to return, however briefly, to Downton in order to collect his possessions was far too high a price to pay. The impractical notion of simply walking away in the clothes he stood up in was accompanied by a conviction so strong that he actually found himself crossing over to the other side of the driveway to give the Downton motor a wide berth as he walked past.

_I never liked the watch that much anyway…_

Internally laughing at the absurdity of his own actions, and awaiting the inevitable shout to indicate that whatever member of staff that had been sent to collect him was running after him to call him back to the car, Thomas thrust his hands into his pockets and began to whistle tunelessly through his teeth as he progressed further away from the prison.

He couldn't resist laughing out loud as an apparition, representing an amalgamation of the physiques of several of the staff at Downton, began to scream at him in a shrill voice in his head.

_['Mr Barrow! Get into the car, Mr Barrow, you depraved lecherous bastard. You must come and remove your possessions immediately, their presence at Downton pollutes the very air itself, Mr Barrow! We cannot possibly…']_

'Thomas?'

Thomas stopped walking. His rush of mania rapidly subsided at the sound of the tentative and familiar voice.

_Jimmy…_

Thomas mouthed the name silently to himself as he stood, stock-still in shock.

'Thomas, is that…is that you?'

Thomas closed his eyes in humiliation at the thought of his demeanor and appearance having altered so much in so short a space of time as to render him unrecognisible.

_Jimmy…_

_Why is HE here?_

Thomas mused that it was one thing for Lord Grantham to be willing to show him the 'mercy' of getting him out of prison…quite another to deliver up his 'victim' to escort him back to Downton.

_Why would they have sent Jimmy after what happened?_

_Unless…_

_[Unless HE'S having to clear his room out too...]_

'What have you done?' Thomas loudly asked of the thin air in front of him, refusing to turn round; a desolate attempt to postpone showing his face for as long as possible.

Standing behind Thomas's back, Jimmy took in the sight of his un-kept hair, the way his back hunched forward under his jacket and the ever so slight tremor in his shoulders.

Jimmy's lower jaw gave an involuntary tremble at the grim confirmation that Thomas's time in prison had been hard on him.

Not that he had ever suspected anything to the contrary despite Alfred's repeated attempts to reassure him.

Jimmy allowed his face to momentarily crumble at Thomas's dejected appearance.

'WHAT have you done?' Thomas demanded again.

Jimmy glanced over at the guards standing at a distance by the prison gates and then at the chauffeur who was waiting for them in the car.

'Let's get you away from here, eh? I'll explain everything later.' He said softly, raising a hand to clasp Thomas's arm. 'Please get in the car.'

Thomas hunched his shoulders forward and leaned heavily on his hands, resting as they were in his jacket pockets, at the gentle, barely perceptible, touch to his forearm.

'Come on...' Said Jimmy to Thomas's back, giving a light tug to the fabric of his sleeve. '…we can't talk out here.' He said, glancing over his shoulder at the guards again, noting that several of them seemed to be watching intently.

Thomas's head hung forwards in defeat. Jimmy read evidence of a deep sigh in the rise and fall of his shoulders.

'Please Thomas.' He whispered.

Reluctantly Thomas began to turn towards Jimmy but found he couldn't quite bring himself to face him.

Jimmy sadly regarded the profile of Thomas's face, concealed behind straggly locks of hair, before stepping in to close the distance himself.

He raised a hand to brush Thomas's hair out of the way, intending to keep the maneuver brief due to their public location, but found himself lingering with his hand at Thomas's cheek as he looked in heartache at the patches of discolored flesh across his cheeks and forehead and the painful, raw cracks splitting his lips.

Thomas's distressed expression deepened as Jimmy's eyes widened.

Too late, Jimmy realised he should have done a better job of shielding his horrified reaction to Thomas's appearance.

He also realised that there was little he could do to remedy that particular mistake in their current location.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to…'

'Stare?' Said Thomas sadly.

'Come on.' Said Jimmy, gripping Thomas's forearm again to draw him back towards the car. 'The sooner we get on our way, the sooner we can talk.'

Thomas climbed silently into the motor car. He sat rigidly, hands still in his pockets, staring sullenly at the back of the chauffeurs head as Jimmy slid into the seat next to him.

The chauffeur began to drive as soon as the door was closed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Thomas staring darkly out of the window on the right-hand side of the car while Jimmy stared sadly out of the window on the left.

At precisely the same moment both men decided to risk a glance at the other, their eyes meeting for the briefest of seconds before they both turned back to their respective windows.

'What's happened?' Said Thomas quietly, resuming his aimless staring out of the window, his head resting against the pane of glass.

'I promise I will explain everything when we get to Ripon.' Said Jimmy glancing at Thomas again.

'Why are we going to Ripon?' Said Thomas in surprise, turning back towards Jimmy.

'His Lordship thought you might need a day or two to recover before returning to Downton.' Jimmy replied.

Thomas sniffed in disdain. 'If it's all the same to His Lordship, I'd rather just collect my things and be on my way.'

'No…that's not..' Jimmy stopped and bit his lip.

He shot Thomas a deeply apologetic look before pointedly indicating the back of the chauffeur's head behind the thin partition that separated the front cab from the back passenger seats.

'I'll explain everything when we get to Ripon.' He said. 'It's good news, I swear.'

Thomas shook his head doubtfully and went back to staring out of the window.

Jimmy slowly extended a hand across the central partition of the seats, below the line of sight of the chauffeur's mirror. Keeping his shoulders and upper arm as immobile as possible to conceal the gesture, he snuck his hand into Thomas's left jacket pocket.

His mouth fell open ever so slightly as he felt the stone-like fingers of Thomas's left hand, fixed in a claw-like attitude, and the scar lines unconcealed by the usual glove.

'I'm sorry, I couldn't get the glove back on over…'Thomas began to whisper.

'Don't be silly.' Jimmy whispered back as he wrapped his warm palm around the freezing knuckles of Thomas's hand, gently interlocking their fingers to impart as much warmth and comfort as the situation allowed.


	60. Chapter 60

The journey from the prison to Ripon took little over an hour and it was still relatively early when they reached the tiny city. Nevertheless, the market traders were already in place in the cobbled square in anticipation of the day's business and the chauffeur was forced to creep the car forwards inch by inch on the final approach to the Weaver's Inn. He muttered obscenities under his breath as he eased a path through the slow moving pedestrians.

In the back of the car Jimmy nervously drummed his fingers over his knees, occasionally shooting a dark glance at the face of a trader when they dared to approach the car window, feeling somewhat on edge at being stuck in the midst of a crown of people given the current state of his emotions. Besides him Thomas was sound asleep, as he had been since less than ten minutes into the journey. He leant peacefully against the car window, oblivious to the bustle and chaos outside.

Jimmy relaxed a little when it became apparent that the side alleyway which cupped round the back of the Inn was mercifully devoid of touters when the chauffeur finally brought the car to a stop. He quickly slid out of the vehicle, shutting the door gently to avoid disturbing Thomas (who looked like he needed every second of rest they could give him) and ran round the side of the car to confer with the chauffeur.

The chauffeur stepped down from his seat and drew out a cigarette as Jimmy approached. 'Well, here we are James. The Weaver's, as requested.' He brought his lighter up to the cigarette and was momentarily distracted by taking a few shallow puffs to get it going properly. 'Can you believe that lot out there?' He continued, indicating back to the main market square with a jerk of his head.

'I really can't.' Said Jimmy disapprovingly.

'Do you know what day you're in need of picking up yet? Mr Carson wasn't clear on that when we spoke yesterday.'

'I'm afraid not. It will be Mr Barrow's decision as to when he is…( _IF he is...willing…able…_ )…ready to return. And there are quite a few things His Lordship has asked me to run through with him first.'

The chauffeur twisted his lip in annoyance, but nodded. He took a leisurely draw on his cigarette. 'Well…JESUS!' He exclaimed as the sight of Thomas propped against the car window shocked him into a bout of coughing.

Jimmy followed his line of sight. 'I know.' He said softly when the chauffeur's coughs eventually subsided.

'Listen…' The chauffeur drew Jimmy a little way away from the car. 'Mr Carson said Lord Grantham wants a report on…' He glanced over at the car, as though expecting to find Thomas suddenly awake with his ear pressed to the glass. '…on how Mr Barrow is after his stay in, well, you know…'

'I do.' Jimmy agreed.

'What on earth am I supposed to tell him?' Said the chauffeur, his gaze once again being drawn back to the disheveled bundle that was Thomas.

Jimmy's bland expression concealed a bitter and hysterical laugh which rang out between his ears.

'I think it best that you describe Mr Barrow exactly as you find him.' He said in an easy voice. 'It wouldn't do to give an unrealistic expectation as to how quickly he's going to be back to work now, would it?'

'Right you are.' The chauffeur fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers. 'How come you're the one who has to stay with him here? I heard him beating you up was the reason he got put away in the first place?' He ventured, clearly hoping for some explanation beyond what had already been discussed with the rest of the staff.

'It was a misunderstanding.' Said Jimmy simply, already mentally going through the catalogue of questions and responses that he had honed over the past week of intense gossip and speculation amongst the staff regarding the news of Thomas's imminent return.

'But I heard he even knocked you unconscious?'

Jimmy gave a bright laugh. 'Actually that happened accidently while the others were unnecessarily  _rescuing_  me.'

'Christ.' He glanced at Thomas again. 'Rotten piece of luck for him…Anyway, sorry to rush you along, but I have to get back. Need any help with the bags?'

'Just pop the two suitcases down by the Inn door, if you wouldn't mind.' Said Jimmy. 'I'll go wake him up.' He added reluctantly.

'How about you go and get checked in and take the bags up first. I'll stay here…make sure he doesn't go anywhere!' Said the chauffeur with a small smile.

Jimmy shot him a grateful look and went to retrieve the cases.

Moments later Jimmy paused at the doorway to the room that he had booked, suitcases in hand. Lord Grantham, in an entirely ineffective attempt to alleviate some of the awkwardness of the situation, had agreed to fund the stay in Ripon while leaving the choice of accommodation up to Jimmy.

Now that he was here, looking at two separate beds at each side of the twin room, Jimmy wondered if he had made the right decision.

He wished he had booked a second room to allow Thomas the option of having some time and space to himself if he so desired.

He sincerely hoped he wouldn't.

But he suddenly wished he could offer that courtesy all the same.

He set the cases down in the center of the room, creating a symbolic barrier between the two beds, before hurrying back downstairs to collect Thomas from the car.

'Thank you for that.' Said Jimmy to the chauffeur on his return. He eyed Thomas, who was still asleep, before beginning to make his way round to the opposite passenger door (to enable him to get to Thomas to shake him awake, without spilling him out onto the pavement in the process). 'Um…' He paused for a moment, looking back at the chauffeur. 'I don't suppose you'd be willing to spare a few of those?' He said, indicating the fresh cigarette the chauffeur had just started.

'I didn't know you smoked…?'

'I don't. But he does.' Jimmy indicated Thomas's sleeping form. 'I didn't think of it while I was packing up his things yesterday. Stupid bloody thing to have forgotten really.'

'Yes.' The chauffeur agreed. 'Smokes like a chimney, does Mr Barrow! There's a spare packet in the front seat compartment, you can take that.'

Jimmy retrieved it with a grateful smile before continuing round to climb back into the passenger cab of the car.

Conscious that he was very much in sight, and possibly within earshot, of the chauffeur, Jimmy went for the conservative approach.

'Mr Barrow…' He said gently, giving his shoulder a slight shake. '…we've arrived in Ripon.'

Thomas stirred and groaned loudly but didn't open his eyes.

'Come on…' Jimmy shook him more vigorously.

Thomas stirred again, screwing up his face in displeasure, his eyes remaining resolutely shut.

This continued for several minutes until the chauffeur, still standing by the side of the car, finally lost patience. He gave the window Thomas was leaning up against a series of sharp taps until Thomas regained enough consciousness to extract his face from the glass.

Thomas took in his surroundings with heavily lidded eyes before clumsily attempting to work the handle of the door. It took both Jimmy and the chauffeur to get him safely out onto the pavement.

'Will you be alright with him?' Said the chauffeur, looking dubiously at the way Jimmy was having to prop Thomas up by the Inn doorway.

'I'll be fine. Thank you again.' Jimmy said, already feeling somewhat crushed under the deadweight of a very groggy Thomas.

They alighted the stairs with great difficulty. Or rather, Jimmy alighted the stairs, supporting Thomas, with great difficulty.

For the sake of his aching shoulders, Jimmy deposited Thomas onto the bed to the left of the room (i.e. the one nearest the door) before dropping to the floor to sit back on his heels for a moment to get his breath back.

When he rose to stand again, it was instantly apparent that Thomas had slipped back into a deep sleep. Despite his desperation to put Thomas mind at rest (or so he dearly hoped) with the news of his discussions with Lord Grantham and the rest of the staff, Jimmy couldn't help but be somewhat glad of this development. Among the multitude of things Thomas looked in need of at that moment, 'sleep' was definitely the most pressing.

He gently removed Thomas's shoes and socks, but paused to consider whether he ought to actually undress him and put him under the covers. Somehow, despite the clear need to undress Thomas (given the way his suit and coat had bunched up uncomfortably around him) and despite Jimmy having already seen (to put it mildly) what lay beneath the aforementioned suit and coat, there was something that seemed horrendously inappropriate about doing it under the current circumstances while it was unclear if Thomas would be comfortable even being in the same room as him.

Berating himself for being stupid, and reminding himself that the action would be that of a  _friend_ , nothing more, Jimmy began the task.

As he slowly worked his way through Thomas's clothes Jimmy did his best not to notice how much weight Thomas had managed to loose or the evidence of bruises and scrapes up his forearms. Despite his own personal frustration at the recurring theme of Thomas attempting to suffer misfortune in silence, Jimmy thought it wrong to be party to such information without Thomas's consent.

But despite this, his heart couldn't resist giving a wrench at the uncovered evidence of harm.

Having succeeded in stripping Thomas down to his underwear, Jimmy briefly lifted first his back then legs to get the bed sheets out from under him.

As he shunted Thomas to lie further up the bed, allowing him to finally place his head on the pillows, Jimmy noticed that where Thomas's undershirt had ridden up some blotchy green discoloration had become visible on the uncovered skin at his waist.

Jimmy moved his hand down to grip the hem of the undershirt.

He dearly wanted to draw the fabric up to investigate, and paused on the edge of doing so for some time, but eventually reminded himself that it ought to be Thomas's choice as to whether he wished to share the extent of his injuries with him.

Pulling the undershirt down to cover the slither of skin, Jimmy briefly pressed his palm gently onto Thomas's stomach to impart a little of the sympathy and comfort he severely hoped he would be allowed to give later, once Thomas was rested.

After pulling up the bed sheets to cover him, Jimmy pondered what to do with himself.

He was far too agitated to attempt sleep of his own (and it was, in fact, just coming up for 9 o'clock in the  _morning_ ) and the idea of sitting listening to Thomas breath for the next eight or so hours made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Taking a moment to re-adjust his tie, Jimmy resolved to take himself downstairs to the pub for a much needed drink.


	61. Chapter 61

Thomas didn't stir for the entire day, or at least he didn't stir during the multiple occasions when Jimmy poked his head around the door to check on him.

Jimmy had allowed himself a pint, despite the ludicrously early hour, but had reassured himself that provided he followed it with a hearty breakfast all would be well. Nevertheless, he did feel somewhat dodgy afterwards and resolved to steer clear of alcohol for the rest of the day. He attempted to wander into the market outside, arguing with himself that one didn't often get the chance to go around the renown 'Ripon Market', but fear at the idea of Thomas waking to find himself alone in an unfamiliar place rapidly chased Jimmy back into the Inn again.

He spent the day working his way through multiple pots of tea while he endeavored to slowly read through every broadsheet newspaper available in the bar selection. For the afternoon he had to resort to people-watching out of the pub window. A group of men had invited him to play cards with them, more from pity than the usual hustling agenda, but despite his excruciating boredom Jimmy doubted his attention span (or nerves) could handle cards or conversation at that moment.

He hung on grimly, despite the increasingly curious glances from the bar staff, well past dusk.

But the number of pub occupants began to increase (along with the volume of noise) as the evening drew on and Jimmy was finally forced to concede defeat and make his way back to the room a couple of hours after the sun had set.

The room was almost completely dark, even the fire was out in the grate, and Jimmy shivered involuntarily at the slight chill in the air.

He picked his way carefully across the room to the bed on the right hand side, praying that his shins would not find the suitcases that he now regretted leaving in the middle of the floor. Upon reaching the bed Jimmy flicked on the bedside light, which gave a warm (albeit low) amber blush to the room. He glanced over at Thomas, who was facing away from him on his side, and then at the suitcases in the middle of the room.

He decided that the effort and noise associated with unclasping and unpacking his suitcase to locate his night clothes wasn't worth the risk of disturbing Thomas, likewise regarding the effort of starting a fire. But as he undressed swiftly, pooling his clothes into an untidy pile on the bed, it became apparent that he really needed to do one or the other.

Jimmy reproached himself for having not worn an undershirt that day as the cold air of the room set his muscles tensing and had the almost imperceptible hairs across his chest standing on edge. Reluctantly he conceded that he would have to go leafing through his suitcase for either a pyjama top or undershirt if he was to have any hope of achieving sleep.

He tiptoed gently over to his suitcase, shivering slightly in the cold. Tilting the case onto it's side as quietly as humanly possible, Jimmy knelt down and began to work the metal clasps.

Almost as if on cue, he heard Thomas stirring in the bed opposite.

'Jimmy…?' Thomas whispered.

From his vantage point on the floor Jimmy looked up to see Thomas had turned over to peer down at him from the bed.

'How are you feeling?' Jimmy said softly, the suitcase quite forgotten as he sat back on his heels to meet Thomas's gaze.

'Like shit.' Came the gruff response as Thomas rolled onto his back to rub a hand over his eyes to remove the sleep that had accumulated there.

Jimmy got up off the floor and advanced a few tentative steps towards the bed, drawing an arm absently across his bare chest to protect against the chilled air. 'We got to Ripon this morning, you've been asleep all day…Is there anything I can get you? If you're hungry, I think the pub will still be doing food if you want some?'

Thomas shook his head. He briefly arched off the mattress to stretch out his tense back muscles before sinking back down and stretching his arms out to touch the headboard. Satisfied at the fresh blood now pumping through the limbs, Thomas lowered his arms.

Jimmy stood awkwardly in the center of the room, watching him.

'Is there anything at all?' He asked tentatively.

'You  _know_  what I want Jimmy.' Said Thomas in an accusatory tone. 'I want you to tell me what the bloody hell's happened.'

'Of course.' Jimmy breathed, nodding rapidly. 'Mind if I sit down?' He said, indicating the bed with the hand that wasn't currently warming his chest.

With a flick of his hand Thomas indicated his agreement, shifting back slightly to allow more room.

Jimmy crossed the room to perch at the end of the bed, the arm across his chest still in place while he buried the hand of the other arm between his long-john clad thighs for warmth.

'When I told you it was good news this morning I meant it.' Jimmy said tentatively. 'I know this is going to sound insufficient given what you've just gone through, but Lord Grantham…' Jimmy's voice slipped into a monotone recital. '…has asked me to extend to you his most sincere apologies and to inform you that he hopes you will acquiesce to return to your post at Downton Abbey.' Jimmy's voice became smaller as he continued. 'I went to Lord Grantham and Mr Crawley as soon as I could after you were arrested, you see. I told them the truth about what happened.'

A flash of anger at the confirmation of Jimmy's role in the situation caused Thomas's brain to temporarily skip over all the other proffered information.

'You stupid…' Despite his anger Thomas couldn't quite bring himself to complete the phrase. 'Don't you understand that I went to prison in order to  _protect_ you?'

Although he knew that there was a lot of further information that Thomas desperately needed before he would be able to properly judge the situation, Jimmy couldn't help but rile at the sentiment in Thomas's accusation.

'I'm sorry, precisely WHEN did we agree that you get to be the martyr in this relationship?' He demanded. 'And why does there even have to be one in the first bloody place?'

Thomas turned his head away angrily to stare at the wall.

Jimmy sighed, suppressing his own flash of anger with all his might. 'Look…I admit, when I went to Lord Grantham and Mr Crawley I very nearly did the simple thing; just name myself as villain to exonerate you…and leave. Not a million miles away from what  _you_  did.' He said softly with a hint of accusation, staring at the floor. He noted that Thomas had inclined his head back towards him in his peripheral vision. 'I told them everything, especially about selling myself, because I wanted to leave them in no doubt as to who really deserved to be in prison.'

'My God...' Thomas whispered, more to himself than Jimmy.

'But then…' Jimmy sniffed. '…then something changed. On SO many levels…something changed. I realised that we were good together and I suddenly couldn't stomach the idea of walking away. It would have been taking the coward's way out; however noble I could claim my motives were…So I fought to justify  _our_  actions, not just yours. And I did it, pulled it off…And I'll be damned if I apologise for having done it however this turns out.'

'So what's happening to you now?' Thomas said as his stretched mind slowly worked through Jimmy's words.

'That depends on you. Lord Grantham is willing to let me stay if you want me to.'

'Why the bloody hell would he allow that?' Thomas said, becoming more confused by the minute.

'Because…he feels very badly about what he and the others did to you.' Jimmy said.

'Oh he  _should_ feel badly.' Muttered Thomas darkly.

Jimmy gave an involuntary shudder.

'For God's sake!' Thomas growled, holding up the side of the bed sheet to motion for Jimmy to join him. 'You're going to catch your death.'

'No, that's not…' Jimmy began, before conceding to himself that while Thomas had misinterpreted that particular shiver, he was in fact completely sodding frozen.

Tentatively he slid into the bed as Thomas retreated back further to the wall. They lay on their sides, facing in at one another, with a good few feet of empty space in between them.

'I understand why His Lordship would feel guilty about accusing me of…what they all thought I did. But I was  _actually_ caught doing something illegal.' Said Thomas, uncomfortably avoiding eye contact with Jimmy. 'I…I don't see why he would think letting you stay on would be some kind of peace offering to me… _knowing_  that if I touch you again I get chased out of Downton by flaming torches…And that's if I'm lucky.' He added in a small voice.

'It's because of something I said to him.' Jimmy shifted to draw the bed sheet up tighter across his shoulder. 'I justified what we did by saying...by saying that we were in love and that it weren't our fault we couldn't make it proper by getting married.' He said quickly and gruffly, practically hiding his head under the bed sheet. 'Then he said that so long as we don't do anything more that we shouldn't while we're at Downton, he doesn't care what we risk doing on our days off.'

'You  _are_  joking?' Thomas said incredulously.

'No…' Jimmy whispered, drawing his legs up to make himself smaller.

Thomas stayed silent for a long time during which Jimmy finally learnt the meaning of the phrase  _'to wait with bated breath'_.

'So…Lord Grantham knows we have slept together, but is willing to keep  _both_  of us on at Downton…' Said Thomas in a very slow voice, disbelief evident in every syllable. Jimmy didn't blame him, it did sound ridiculous when stated quite so simply.

'…because he thinks we are genuinely in love, like man and wife are supposed to love each other...' Thomas continued, equally slowly. '…and that has somehow made what we did acceptable, or at least understandable.'

Jimmy curled into himself, rustling the sheets as he did. 'Yes…that's about it.' He said.

'Your…your testimony must have been very convincing…' Said Thomas, his voice suddenly softening.

Jimmy recognised the thinly veiled prompt in Thomas's words, and was unsurprised to find him staring directly at him when he extracted his head from the bed sheets.

Jimmy responded the only way his conscience would let him.

'That's because, for my part, it was the truth…I  _do_  love you, very much. And I told that to all of them; Mr Carson, Alfred…everyone that saw, and Mrs Hughes.' Said Jimmy quietly.

Thomas's expression remained largely unchanged save for a slight widening of his eyes.

'You…you stood up and actually admitted it to  _all_  of them?' Thomas said softly.

'I did.' Jimmy shifted about on his side, as though about to burrow back down into the bed sheets.

'Then why would it be a question as to whether or not I would want you back at Downton with me?' Said Thomas quizzically.

'Because this is all my bloody fault.' Jimmy whispered. 'I don't think hardly anyone would have believed what got you sent to prison if it hadn't been for how I acted before, certainly no one that matters would have believed it. Last year I tried to turn everyone I could against you, even people you'd worked with for years, to cover my own back. Then I go and get you into trouble with the Duke…' Jimmy's voice trailed off. 'So I've done everything I can to sort this out. And if there is anything more I can do then just ask. I wish  _so much_  that you would have me back, so I can stay near you, but I want you to know that I understand if you don't want to. And after all this…whether you let me stay or not, I won't forget what you've shown me. And I love you.'

For a while Jimmy's strangled breaths were the only sound in the room until Thomas eventually cleared his throat to speak.

'I started to love you the day we met, I think you know that…and I think...' Thomas paused to swallow nervously before continuing. '…you've finally shown me that I was right to do so.'

As Jimmy raised his head in surprise, Thomas gave him a small smile. Jimmy exhaled in relief.

'Can I have a kiss?' Jimmy asked tentatively.

'A kiss?'

'Yes, I wish I could have kissed you as soon as you got out this morning. But the guards were there…' Said Jimmy ruefully.

Thomas ran his chapped and split lower lip between his teeth, a few flakes of dried skin coming off in the process. 'Probably just as well you didn't, I don't think I'd be much fun to kiss at the moment.'

Jimmy slid across the bed to close the distance, making a point of leaving a fold of blanket between the two of them (reasoning if Thomas was uncomfortable about the prospect of a kiss, then anything else was likely to be off the menu).

'I don't mind…if you don't.' He said, briefly running a finger along Thomas's lower lip, looking earnestly up at his eyes.

Thomas regarded him carefully for a few moments before slowly bringing his lips to Jimmy's.

He wasn't wrong, his lips were horribly abrasive, but Jimmy didn't care; purely because he was kissing Thomas and, from that moment forward, that would  _never_  be a bad thing as far as he was concerned.

'So…' Jimmy whispered tentatively when they broke apart. 'Will you come back to Downton?'

Thomas turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling, bringing a hand up to absently run through his hair. 'I won't lie, I don't see how I could…the idea of being in a room with people who think I'm a rapist makes my skin crawl.'

'But they don't think you're a…' Jimmy began.

'They  _thought_  I was. That doesn't just go away now that they know better.' Thomas cut him off abruptly.

'I told you…' Jimmy said quietly. '…a large part of that was my fault, not theirs.'

Thomas sighed deeply, still staring blankly upwards.

'Think of it this way, both the current and future Earl of Grantham  _know_ now. They know  _everything_. And whatever awkwardness or hostility there might be amongst the staff, it means something to know that we are both  _safe_  there because your masters  _know_  and yet continue to care about your wellbeing.'

'Why not your wellbeing?' Said Thomas with a frown.

'They like you more than me… _might_  have something to do with them remembering that time I tried to get a bloke sacked and imprisoned for the crime of giving me a little peck on the lips while I was telling them about my wanton sexual exploits with men…' Said Jimmy with an uneasy laugh.

'Yes…I see how that could happen.' Said Thomas in mock seriousness.

Jimmy's laugh became more hearty as Thomas failed to maintain his strict expression and instead gave over to an amused grin.

'So how long have I got to think about this then?' Said Thomas.

'In theory as long as you want, in reality more like a couple of days. Or however long it takes to get you…feeling a bit better.' Jimmy said gingerly.

Thomas nodded silently.

'Are you  _sure_  you don't want me to go find you some food?' Said Jimmy, with a glance down at Thomas's frame, which looked smaller than usual even under the bed sheets.

'No, I couldn't eat anything right now. But I won't deny that after two weeks in that place I'd give my right hand for a bit of Mrs Patmore's cooking…although maybe I should offer my left hand instead, that one's not much use to me at the moment.' He concluded ruefully.

'What happened to it?' Said Jimmy.

'Nothing really.' Thomas replied, pulling the hand out from under the covers to look at it in the soft lamplight. 'The old wound just never liked the damp and the cold…and there was plenty of both to be had in there.'

'You think it will get better?'

'Couldn't say. I hope so.'

'Are there…were there any other problems? Injuries or anything?' Said Jimmy, trying to give the impression of nonchalance.

'Just some bruises. The worst ones are on my ribs. Do you want to see?'

Jimmy heard the last question more as  _'Can I show you?'_  and nodded, albeit with a hint of trepidation.

Thomas pushed the sheets on his side of the bed down to his waist as he briefly raised himself off the mattress to pull his nightshirt off over his head.

In the limited color palette visible in the amber lamplight, Jimmy found himself less shocked by the large faded stripe-shaped bruises that ran diagonally across Thomas's ribs than he was by the multiple small circles collected at the lower right hand side of Thomas's ribcage.

'Those look like finger marks…' He said hesitantly.

'That's 'cos they are…' Said Thomas in a slightly comic voice. '…these here…' He indicated the small circular bruises in various stages of healing. '…are because my cell-mate needed convincing screams while he was pretending to have his way with me to stop the guards beating me up, and these…' Thomas ran a finger along the faded stripes. '…are from before, when a guard mistook me wanting to give myself a hair-cut for me wanting to commit suicide and thought the proper response was to knock the hell out of me. Oh…' Thomas turned slightly to show a much larger bruise on his left side. '…and this is from a guard kicking me out of the way while I was washing the floor.'

Jimmy found himself quite unable to think up an articulate response. 'Holy shit…so just a  _bit_  of trouble then?'

Thomas laughed. 'And yet here I am.'

Jimmy grinned. 'I think Alfred summed it up best; he said you had more lives than a cat.'

'Certainly seems that way, doesn't it.' Said Thomas. 'Although I think I've finally spotted a pattern…'

'Oh…?' Jimmy leaned up on his elbow to meet Thomas's eyes as he turned back onto his side to look at him.

'I piss off a lot of people…think I'm all alone…But just when I'm properly sunk…some miracle of a person comes in that thinks I'm worth saving, no matter how hard I get in the way of them trying to do it.'

Not bothering to seek permission this time, Jimmy leaned in and vigorously locked their lips together.

Thomas allowed at least some of the pent up worry and distress of the past weeks to melt away at the warmth of Jimmy's kiss.

His chaste enjoyment rapidly began to shift into something decidedly more hungry.

Dragging away the bed sheets that had bunched up between them, Thomas pressed his naked chest to Jimmy's. He barely registered the twinge of discomfort from his bruises amidst the beautiful sensation of skin sliding over skin. He slid his right hand insistently down the small of Jimmy's back to linger at the waistband of his underwear.

'Wait.' Jimmy abruptly pulled back. 'You need your rest right now.' He reluctantly asserted.

'I've had my rest.' Said Thomas, his breathing noticeably heavier as he dipped his head to kiss Jimmy's cheek.

'You need time to recover!' Jimmy stated, the conviction behind the statement somewhat unconvincing as he gasped at the sensation of the stubble on Thomas's cheek grazing against his own.

Thomas slid his hand partially below Jimmy's waistband, causing Jimmy's breath to hitch in anticipation.

' _Please_  stop looking out for my best interests.' Said Thomas, massaging small circles into the flesh beneath his fingertips.

'Alright…' Said Jimmy with a laugh, meeting the challenge in Thomas's eyes. 'But excuse me for a moment while I look after  _my_  best interests.'

Thomas groaned in protest as Jimmy pulled away to slide off the bed.

'Shhh, just a second!' Jimmy said as he dropped back down by the suitcase to rummage through it's contents.

Finding what he was looking for, Jimmy returned to the bed, pausing for a moment before rejoining Thomas.

'Now I may be being horribly presumptuous, but if you're heading in the direction that I think you are then I'd appreciate it if you used this.' Said Jimmy.

He held out a small bottle to him as he climbed onto the bed to re-settle on his side, facing Thomas.

Thomas took the bottle with a frown, tipping out a portion of the contents to run the slippery liquid between his fingers. He deduced it's purpose immediately. 'And where was this when  _I_  needed it?' He said, raising a reproachful yet teasing eyebrow at Jimmy.

'Well…' Jimmy smiled nervously, placing his left hand on Thomas's side to stroke his hip bone. '…frankly, it was in my other jacket. Remember… _I_ just wanted to talk that night. And the time after that we were in rather too much of a hurry.'

Thomas smirked ruefully, but his expression softened at the look on Jimmy's face and the increase in the reassuring strokes to his hip bone, which began to wander further afield to include a soothing ghosting over his bruised ribs.

Reaching over Jimmy to drop the bottle onto the floor, the bed sheets sliding down to pool around their knees in the process, Thomas settled back onto his side. He leaned his left arm (more specifically: wounded hand) out of the way on the pillow above them before indicating with his eyes that he was going to need some help with the soft white fabric currently encasing Jimmy's lower half.

With a devilish grin, Jimmy instead slid over closer to Thomas and first pulled down  _his_ underwear. He silenced Thomas's good-humored murmur of protest at being handled in such a way, while he had no hands free to defend himself, with a slow kiss before reluctantly breaking contact to tend to his own last remaining garment.

In an attempt to make up some of the ground he had just lost, Thomas began his ministrations before Jimmy had succeeded in getting his own underwear past his knees. Hooking his right arm under Jimmy's, his fingers quickly finding their mark, Thomas pressed their bodies together as he began to explore the hidden muscles. He chuckled at Jimmy's moans of protest, mingled with breathy gasps of encouragement, at being largely immobilised between Thomas's body, his enveloping arm and the tight fabric still encasing his legs.

Shortly afterwards it was Jimmy's turn to give a satisfied laugh when Thomas was forced to concede that he needed greater access than their current arrangement would allow and had to release him temporarily to allow him to finally undress.

Much as he was desperate for more of Thomas's inexpert, although promisingly explorative, touch, Jimmy couldn't help but take the opportunity to tease the hell out of him by taking his sweet time to slip out of his long-johns.

The look in Thomas's eyes made it clear he was going to pay for that particular maneuver, but Jimmy was of the opinion that it was worth it.

Although that opinion rapidly changed when, after hooking a leg over Thomas's hip in order to allow him better access, Jimmy found himself almost reduced to begging as Thomas's fingers lingered at his entrance for a maddeningly long time before resuming their earlier attentions.

They rutted against one another, stealing brief kisses in between gasps as Thomas continued to probe into Jimmy.

Jimmy's surprise and elation that they were in such a position at all, given everything that had happened, kept him patient in accepting Thomas's slow preparation for much longer than he could have stood it otherwise.

Had he not been quite so desperate for what was to follow, Jimmy would have got out of the bed and danced a jig when Thomas finally whispered to him to lie back.

He rolled over onto his back, immediately drawing his legs apart, as Thomas moved to settle over him.

There was a perceptible shift in the atmosphere as both men paused to fully take in the situation at hand.

Jimmy had never felt more exposed in his life than he did at that moment under Thomas's gaze, and his heart lurched at the realisation that he was not just willing, but actually eager, to appear so in front of him. Unreservedly trusting the look of adoration in Thomas's eyes, Jimmy found himself wishing for the first time that he could give  _more_  of himself, not less.

Thomas, propped up on his wrists over Jimmy, felt a slight catch in his throat at the sight of him, uncalculatingly and unashamedly, lying bared in every possible way beneath him. He felt empowered to truly believe in the love he saw reflected back at him, and to relish in the alien feeling of warmth and security that particular acceptance offered.

Leaning down over Jimmy to properly meet his eyes, Thomas whispered to him.

'This really means something, doesn't it?'

Jimmy nodded.

He raised his head as Thomas lowered his to allow their lips to meet in a chaste but powerful kiss.

Thomas sank bodily onto Jimmy as the kiss deepened.

Jimmy gently sucked on Thomas's offered tongue and snaked his hands across Thomas's back to draw him in and keep him close.

Despite the pleasure of the moment, the feel of the overly prominent ribs caused a wrench in his gut that caused Jimmy to tighten his hold.

The heat began to rise between them everywhere that their skin touched as their bodies began to glide against one another more insistently; craving more warmth, more closeness.

As Thomas finally slid inside they both shared in a moment of shallow-breathed euphoria.

When Thomas began to withdraw Jimmy's body betrayed him, causing him to reflexively buck up to maintain the contact.

Pausing to briefly kiss Jimmy's feverish forehead, Thomas dropped his good hand down to restrain Jimmy's hips as he slowly began to repeatedly give both of them what they so desperately craved.

They rocked against each other, their gasps soft and raw.

'Please…' Jimmy eventually whispered. 'Please, more.'

Thomas's grip on Jimmy's hip tightened as he once again attempted to force a different pace, keeping him still to accept the unhurried and sensual thrusts as he delivered them.

Thomas shook his head, staring down into Jimmy's eyes.

'I'm having you for as long as possible.' Thomas breathed, leaning to plant a small kiss on Jimmy's lips. As he went to raise his head again, Jimmy's mouth followed his to offer a more lingering kiss as reward for the sentiment (despite every nerve in his body that begged for the more immediate release to be found in a harsher, harder, more punishing rhythm).

A wave of pleasure swept across Thomas's body when he felt the tension leave the muscles in Jimmy's thighs as he finally resolved to entrust the encounter's progress to him.

Imparting trust of his own by removing his hand from Jimmy's hip, Thomas continued the sybaritic pace while leaning down to gently kiss away the involuntary emotional tears which had appeared on Jimmy's cheeks. Jimmy moaned softly in approval on both counts as an unfamiliar and potent feeling began to rise within him at the intensity of Thomas's attentions.

In spite of his best efforts to the contrary, Thomas found the point of no return rapidly approaching and was compelled to extract himself entirely (leaving both of them shivering and panting in pent up arousal) in order to postpone the moment.

Jimmy, having recognised the reason for Thomas's swift retreat, reached to gently squeeze his forearm in response to the apologetic look that Thomas shot him.

Thomas took a moment to get himself under control, something which was made  _very_  difficult by the sight beneath him, not to mention the general all-encompassing tension of the situation, before leaning to whisper in Jimmy's ear.

'Will you turn over?'

Jimmy's eyes widened in surprise as he nodded vigorously.

Despite his momentary discomfort and frustration, Thomas couldn't resist smiling at Jimmy's eagerness as he rolled over onto his hands and knees.

Kneeling behind him, Thomas immediately re-seated himself within Jimmy. The later gave a desperate moan at the fresh sensation, but Thomas found the new position somehow less satisfying. Running his fingers down the warm and flawless expanse of Jimmy's back, he rapidly settled on a solution.

'Kneel up.' He whispered hoarsely, tugging on Jimmy's waist.

'What?' Jimmy choked out, more from having noticed the cessation of Thomas's movements rather than actually processing his words.

'Kneel up.' Thomas repeated more insistently.

This time as Thomas tugged on his waist, Jimmy drew his entire upper body up to join him. As his back came to rest against Thomas's chest, Jimmy let out an involuntary and very loud shout at the sudden shift in angle and depth of contact below their waists. Thomas quickly clamped a hand over Jimmy's mouth and remained stock still until he felt him relax against him.

Thomas began to move again; initially with extreme caution but rapidly returning to a slow yet firm rhythm when it became apparent that Jimmy had achieved a state of arousal that transcended vocalisation.

Thomas's thighs screamed in protest at the unfamiliar exertion but as he inhaled deeply on the scent of Jimmy's neck and mapped every inch of Jimmy's chest with his fingertips as he writhed against him, he couldn't bring himself to let up even for a moment.

As Jimmy moved a hand towards his straining erection, Thomas gently restrained him, pressing down with his palm to sandwich Jimmy's hand against his thigh. 'A little while longer.' Thomas whispered into Jimmy's ear. Jimmy gave a barely perceptible nod, eyes closed, mouth open wide, as he rested his head back against Thomas's shoulder.

Repeatedly giving thanks to a higher power (mentally, not orally, having now rendered himself incoherent at the painfully exquisite level of stimulation) Thomas maintained the experience for as long as his diminished health would allow him.

When his thighs began to tremor with exhaustion, Thomas finally yielded.

Running his hand up from it's position on Jimmy's inner thigh, he took him vigorously in hand as he simultaneously increased the power of his thrusts.

In a matter of seconds Jimmy's body was wracked with the contractions of powerful release.

As he reached the crucial moment himself, Thomas pushed Jimmy forwards into his original position on all fours and abandoned his earlier restraint.

Amid the afterglow and accompanying hypersensitivity of his own orgasm, Jimmy somehow found the reserves to push back and meet Thomas's thrusts.

Thomas was rapidly overcome by a wave of sheer ecstasy; continuing to rut against Jimmy amid the resounding bliss of his own personal nirvana until he had nothing left to give.

In the last moment of adrenaline before exhaustion could claim him, Thomas once again pulled Jimmy up to lie flush against his chest. Jimmy turned his head back to allow them to share a bruising, sloppy and utterly ravenous kiss before slowly extracting themselves from one another and collapsing heavily onto the mattress.

Through the haze of exhaustion, both men decided that they were not going to let their overheated and sweat laden state get in the way of additional proximity.

They rolled together in the center of the bed, sharing one another's breath as they rested their foreheads together.

'You realise we can never do that again…?' Jimmy eventually said amid shallow gasps.

Thomas furrowed his brow quizzically.

'…Because there is no way  _anything_  could possibly beat that.'

Thomas let out a snort of laughter, giving Jimmy's grinning cheek a playful (but hard) pinch.

'I'm sure you'll come up with something.' He smiled.

Jimmy smiled back and drew him into a gentle hug, happily listening to the rhythm of Thomas's breathing and heartbeat as he sank into a deeply satisfying sleep.

Several days later Thomas and Jimmy exchanged a brief meaningful look in the back of the car as the striking prospect of Downton Abbey swept into view.

Although their conversation had been bright and easy throughout the journey, Jimmy sensed Thomas's sense of unease growing rapidly as they made the final approach to Downton.

As the car came to a stop at the front of the house Jimmy couldn't quite resist a smirk at the sight of Lord Grantham hurrying over to the motor from the front porch.

'Give him hell.' He whispered to Thomas, who responded with a weak smile before exiting the car and crunching across the gravel to meet him.

Jimmy remained behind in the car, out of earshot, carefully watching the body language of both men. He was satisfied to note that as he continued to speak, Lord Grantham had kept a lingering grip on Thomas's hand after their initial handshake, and (more importantly) that Thomas had let him.

He noticed Thomas suddenly looking sideways towards the house, apparently on Lord Grantham's instruction.

Jimmy followed his gaze and saw Carson standing by the front door just in time to catch him offering Thomas a stiff nod of welcome (clearly also operating under Lord Grantham's instruction).

Jimmy took it as the appropriate moment to exit the vehicle, quietly collecting the suitcases and thanking the driver. Keeping himself inconspicuous in the background, he smiled at the growing confidence in Thomas's posture as he continued to listen to Lord Grantham's words.

**THE END**

A sequel ('Our Interest') is also available on AO3


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